


Words I'll Never Say

by anastiel



Series: Words I'll Never Say [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era, Top Dean, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam leaves for Stanford in the summer of 2001, he gives Dean a journal that he has been keeping since he was thirteen. Over the next four years Sam and Dean will struggle to come to terms with the hidden feelings revealed in Sam's journal. At the point when Sam has almost moved on, Dean shows up in the middle of the night whisking him away back to the life he thought he left behind and reawakening all the emotions he so desperately tried to push away, causing both Sam and Dean to finally confront the feelings between them head-on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art created by matchboximpala: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4783430  
> Special thanks to matchboximpala for her wonderful talents, to Nicole (deanmoans) for beta'ing for me and helping me through the hard spots and to Julia (plaidshirtleatherjacket) for reading this fic from its infancy and for always being at my side on this roller-coaster of a journey.
> 
> Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8fq_k6Oyu5H7zB3hHj1SGOD4q5oh1FDk
> 
> Created with love in honor of ten years of Supernatural and the Winchester's unconditional love for one another.

August 12, 2001

Two hours and thirty-five minutes.

A bottle of Jack sits idly on the coffee table, only a fourth of its liquid still inside. Dean is sprawled out on the dirty carpet of the rental house of the month, curled in on himself, bleary eyes staring blankly at the chipped paint on the far wall.

Two hours and thirty-five minutes.

With a grunt he rolls over and reaches up to the coffee table, snatching the bottle and taking a long swig. He collapses onto his back and grunts again, scrubbing one hand against his face. His mind is spinning, rotating and flashing with everything that happened in the past few hours. He wants to stop thinking about it but he can’t, his mind won’t let him.

Two hours and thirty-five minutes ago Sam left for Stanford and took Dean’s entire world with him.

Dean figures that the fact he’s only gone through three quarters of a bottle of whiskey is a miracle, considering the circumstances.

John wasn’t much better off, though Dean knew that his abundant drinking was more due to anger at Sam’s disobedience versus actually being upset at Sam leaving. He left to go drink twenty minutes after Sam left, and now he’s most likely in some dingy bar on the outskirts of town and won’t be returning until tomorrow morning at the earliest.

Honestly, Dean was more pissed at John than Sam. Sam? He got it. The kid wanted to get out; he wanted to have a normal life. Hell, if Dean thought he had a rat’s ass of a chance at having a normal life he would’ve left years ago. But he wouldn’t have left Sam, he couldn’t have. He physically would have been drawn back no matter what. Part of him hoped that it would be just as hard for Sam to leave him. Obviously, he was wrong.

Yeah, Dean’s at the point where a bar and a pretty woman are starting to look real good right now. He’s never felt like this before. He can’t move, he’s just lying on the ground with his heart bleeding out of his chest while Sam fucking leaves without batting an eye. Dean’s fucking dying and Sam’s spreading his wings and flying away.

It’s not goddamn fair.

He’s not just mad, he’s confused as fuck and he can’t get Sam’s final words out of his head. Dean had been angry, so had Sam, but when Sam hugged him goodbye it wasn’t normal; it was far from normal, it felt final. As a kid Sam always hugged for the longest time, clinging to Dean like an octopus, unwilling to let go until Dean shrugged him off or their Dad gave Dean a disapproving look. That’s the kind of hug Sam gave him tonight. His arms just wrapped around Dean’s shoulders and he clung, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and squeezing him for longer than socially acceptable, especially at their age.

He patted Dean once, fingers lingering on his shoulder just a little too long and then with a half-hearted smile he said, “I want you to come with me Dean; I’d love for you to more than anything. You won’t though, not after you find out the truth.”

Dean gaped at him, confused as fuck, because what?

What the fuck is the truth Sam had been talking about? He’d been cryptic the entire time, his sad, puppy dog eyes tilted down at the corners, yet there was a kind of spark in them Dean had never seen before. Freedom, yeah that was it. Sam was getting out of this shithole of a family and getting away from his fuck-up of a big brother. Of course he was fucking happy to be leaving, why the fuck would he feel any differently?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sam chuckled, something dark and cold. Dean had never heard his brother laugh like that and it sent a chill down his spine. “In my bedroom, there’s something for you. I want you to read it, all of it. You might hate me after you do and that’s fine I’ll understand. Just read it, please.”

Dean wasn’t going to say no, if this is the last time he ever sees his brother, he’s going to do his last request.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll read it.”

“Thanks, Dean. I’m sorry,” Sam said. He stood at the door, fingers trapped around the doorknob. Dean could see his hand shaking as he clenched the doorknob; this wasn’t as easy for Sam as he was letting on. Dean wasn’t ready for him to leave, he’d never be ready.

“Sam, you’ll call right? I know Dad’s not happy and told you to stay away, but I don’t… I’m not cutting you out like that. You’re my brother and I’d do anything for you, you know so just please call sometimes okay?”

Sam nodded the tiniest of a nod that wasn’t sincere in the slightest. Dean was losing him and in less than three seconds he’d be gone.

“Okay. Bye, Dean.”

“Bye, Sammy.”

And he left, he just fucking left out the door without a second look. Dean couldn’t bear it; he couldn’t just let Sam go like that. There was too much of a rift between them, too much not said and even though he couldn’t say how he _really_ felt he could at least make sure Sam knew he had some place, someone to come back to if he ever needed to.

Dean ran out the door, like a goddamn girl in a romance movie and stopped Sam half-way down the block, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“C’mon Sam, let me at least drive you to the bus station.”

Sam turned around, shrugging off Dean’s hand. His eyes dropped to the ground, contemplating; Dean could see the gears rotating in Sam’s head. “Okay.”

They hugged again at the station, this time for longer. Dean was sure they would both deny the tears that fell onto each other’s shirts until the day they died. It still happened and Dean’s heart still broke the moment he saw Sam’s bus head down the interstate, taking his baby brother a thousand miles away from him.

He’s wanted to go into Sam’s room ever since he got back from the bus station, but alcohol was more important at the moment. As long as the pain subsided at least, maybe he could sustain reading whatever the fuck goodbye note Sam left for him. He could see it from the doorway, a small slip of paper lying on the bed. Right now though, his head is spinning and if he tries to stand up he’ll probably fall on his face, so it’s best if he just wallows in his misery until the dizziness subsides a little.

Dean doesn’t wait long enough, curiosity getting the better of him. Standing is difficult; he has to hold onto the top of the couch, staggering to the side when he finally makes it to his feet. The short walk to the bedroom seems like miles, but the walls and doorways are there to hold him up when he nearly trips over his own toes.

There is the note, written in scrawled writing Dean is ninety-nine percent sure Sam wrote while crying; his handwriting is usually better than jumbled chicken scratch.

 

_Dean,_

_If you’re reading this I must already be gone. You’re probably drunk or at least a little tipsy and maybe it would be better if you read this sober, probably not. Either way, please read this, it’s the truth I was talking about. I’ve never been an open book, not about a lot of things; this journal is my open book. I’m sorry for what you’re about to read. It’ll probably make you hate me, you’ll never want to see me again, and that’s okay I’ll understand. Just know that if you don’t contact me after this, I’ll take it as a sign that you want nothing to do with me. I won’t contact you, I won’t bother you, I’ll vanish. If you take anything away from this, let it be this: Despite the fact that I love you in the most fucked up way possible, everything good in me came from you. You’re my light and I don’t know how I’m going to live without you but I guess I’ll have to find a way._

_I’m sorry for not being the brother you deserve._

_I love you,_

_Sam_

 

Dean’s hands are shaking when he reaches the final line. He re-reads the words again and again, eyes dancing over the page, until he has the entire note practically memorized. What the fuck is Sam talking about? Nothing he could ever say would make Dean hate him. Nothing. He drops the note on the bed, wiping at his eyes. A flash of color catches his eye and he reaches down, fingers rubbing over the smooth hard surface. Beneath the note is a journal, the one he gave Sam for his thirteenth birthday. It’s still just as atrocious looking as when he first stole it out of that gas station in Minnesota, purple with a ton of fucking gold stars on the cover. And Sam, for whatever godforsaken reason, kept the goddamn thing for the past six years.

The key is resting neatly on the top of the journal and Dean gingerly picks it up, like the journal is going to come to life any second and eat him. The lock opens easily, probably from overuse and Dean’s heart drops into his stomach when he reads the date on the first page.

 

_May 2, 1996_

Fuck. Well, here goes.

_Today is my 13th birthday. Dean got me this journal as a present, which I’m pretty sure is from the dollar store in the girl’s section because it is this dark purple color with golden stars all over the front cover. There’s even a lock and a key to hold all my “secrets.” At first I thought it was a joke. I’d been nagging on Dad and Dean to get me an actual journal for the past year. This isn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I asked for a journal, but hey at least it’s a hardcover and durable. Dean looked so genuine when he gave it to me, all wrapped up in an old torn-up paper bag, how could I not love it?_

_The reason I wanted a journal in the first place was just to write stuff – memories, poems, etc – a way to have my memories written down somewhere for the future. I’m not so sure if that’s what I’m going to use it for now though. I’ve got a lot of emotions inside me, new things that I’m slowly starting to realize and they kinda scare the shit out of me. Most of it is stuff I can never say out loud, but I need to talk about how I’m feeling or else my heart will fold in on itself and kill me. Or I might go crazy holding in all these thoughts and secrets until one day it becomes too much and drives me to do something stupid._

_I can’t afford to do something stupid._

_So I’ll write everything down here where no one will ever look underneath lock and key so my family, especially Dean, won’t find out what a fucked up kid I am._

 

Dean pauses, shaking fingers running up and down the edge of the page. Fucked up? What the fuck? Sam’s not a normal kid, he never was. Neither of them are normal, they’re damn hunters. Sam was always brooding and pensive and a huge nerd, but he was a sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly unless he had to. There isn’t anything fucked up about him.

Dean licks the pad of his thumb and flips to the next page, his heart thudding erratically against his ribcage.

 

_May 5, 1996_

_We are on our way to Nebraska for a hunt and I’m really upset. On the night of my birthday, after Dean took me to one of the nearby diners for dessert, Dad came back. He’d been gone for months and I’d almost accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to make my birthday, again, when he showed up. He came storming into the house, not bothering to wish me Happy Birthday or anything and told us to pack our things and to be out in the car in five minutes. I couldn’t move, I was seething with anger. I just stood there shaking and clenching my fists, not able to say anything because I knew that no matter what I said, it wouldn’t matter. When Dad barks orders, we obey. But Dean, he always finds a way to fight back against Dad. “C’mon Dad, can’t we wait until morning?” He’d said. I could tell he was pissed too, his jaw kept twitching and his eyes went all narrow. Dad just looked lost for a moment and asked, “Why?” He didn’t even remember it was my birthday. So Dean, of course reminded him. And what did Dad say to that? “Of course I know it’s Sam’s birthday. I’m getting you boys out of this shitty town, that’s a pretty nice present don’t you think?”_

_I couldn’t just stand there anymore so I ran. I bolted into the bedroom and jumped on the bed, wrapping the pillow around my head. I heard them yelling, shooting insults at each other back and forth, like guns firing, always firing. I was angry too, but I dealt with things differently than Dean. He confronted, I ran. Eventually I stopped crying and they stopped yelling. I feel asleep soon after that, but woke up around midnight when Dean came in. We’d stopped sleeping in the same bed about two years ago. Dad told us that we had to stop, we were both getting too old and it looked bad. At first I never understood what he meant by that, “it looked bad,” but now I think I’m starting too. That night though, I think Dean knew I needed him and Dad was no doubt passed out drunk in the living room, so he wouldn’t care if Dean came in here, just for one night._

_He climbed into bed beside me and I scooted over to make room for him. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. The arm he slipped around my waist, hugging me up against his chest was enough. It was some kind of unspoken apology. He’d tried so hard to make my birthday good, he always tries and I think he was worried that because of this, he’d somehow failed. I squeezed his hand where it was wrapped around me, letting him know that he didn’t fail. It was still a good birthday because of him._

Oh God, Sammy. Dean wasn’t going to be able to get through this.

_I fell asleep soon after that, but the last thought I had before I drifted off was how much I’d missed this. How much I missed him being close, being right there, how much I missed his arms around me._

_It’s wrong and I know it’s wrong_.

Whoa whoa, wait what?!

_The worst part is I’m starting to want more than just this, the few little hugs and touches I can get._

_I can’t help it and I can’t stop._

_I don’t know what to do._

 

Sam was thirteen. Thirteen and he wanted…. He wanted… more than. Did he mean -? No. No, he couldn’t have meant that, not _that_ anything but that. Shit. Fucking. Fuck.

Dean turns and falls back onto the bed, debating whether to go back into the living room and grab the rest of the whisky. He definitely needs more alcohol for this.

 

_May 13, 1996_

_Nebraska is really flat. I hate it. There are no trees, no mountains, only endless miles of prairie and wimpy rolling hills as far as the eye can see. I can’t understand why anyone would want to live here._

_I’m back at school again and so is Dean, though he seems to think he doesn’t need it, which is a bunch of bullshit. I know he doesn’t like to think of himself as smart, but he is. He’s a friggin’ genius. I keep telling him that if he gets good grades he could go off to college and pursue an engineering degree. He mentioned it once, a few months ago that if he ever went to college that’s what he’d go for. I know he’d be awesome I just wish he could find it within himself to go after that dream._

Sam always had too much faith in him, like he was some kind of hero. He wasn’t, he was just some dumb kid with a fake cocky attitude who tried to get by in high school by being cool because he was too insecure with himself to actually be who he wanted to be. He wasn’t awesome, he wasn’t smart, he was just a teenage boy who was too good with guns and too hung up on his little brother.

_I know what I want to do when I graduate high school. I’m gonna go to Stanford and become a lawyer. I love helping people and I like learning about laws, learning about justice. Maybe it’s the way I’ve been raised or something, the need to save people in some way, but I want to do good in the world. I feel like maybe if I make something of myself, I can take all the bad feelings inside of me and turn them into positive. I don’t know. It’s worth a shot._

_Dean’s been going out a lot lately now that Dad is gone. He’s only seventeen but somehow manages to simultaneously act like a five year old and a grown-up all at the same time. He goes out, gets drunk and comes home to pass out on the couch. Yet he teases me in the same way he did when we were little. It’s weird. The kids at the junior high school call him a rebel. They say over at the high school he skips class like it’s going out of style and can get into a girl’s pants in less than ten minutes; all he has to do is smile at her. I’m sure they’re not wrong and if Dean coming home smelling like cheap perfume every night for the past few weeks is any indication, the rumors are true._

_I don’t ask him about it, I don’t really wanna know._

_It’s not like I’m jealous or anything. It’s just… weird. He’s weird._

 

Not jealous? Yeah, right.

Dean should be more shocked to learn when Sam was thirteen he had a crush on him, but he’s really not. At least Sam isn’t like him, twenty-two and filled with so much repressed love for his little brother he can barely function.

The alcohol is calling to him now; it’s presence a constant vibration from the other room. He leaves the journal open on the bed and staggers into the living room, grabbing the bottle of jack and a couple of beers out of the fridge before returning to his spot.

It’s gonna be a long night.

 

_May 30, 1996_

_We’re still in Nebraska and we’ve been here long enough to fall back into a sort of schedule. Get up, breakfast, go to school, come home, do homework, have dinner, watch a movie with Dean, do more homework, read for a while, go to bed. Seems boring huh? It’s not, honestly. I love being normal. I love mundane activities. When you move around as much as we do, you don’t get to be normal; you don’t get to have friends. Or if you make friends, they’re short-lived. I always try and stay in contact, but postage is expensive and we’re only supposed to use stolen credit cards for necessities._

_It’s nice to stay in one spot for at least a few months. Kinda makes me feel like I have a home, something other than the backseat of a vintage car and moldy motel rooms._

_Anyway, speaking of money, Dean keeps coming home with wads of cash. I don’t know where he’s getting it from. I mean, maybe he’s gambling or something I have no clue, but I’m worried. There are a lot of things he could be doing to get that much money, like having sex with random strangers. I know he wants to protect me and make sure I’m alright, but he doesn’t have to do that. We have money, we have food, we’re okay, at least for now anyway._

 

Not that it means anything now, but Dean wishes that Sam could’ve been normal too. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt all this shit for Dean and Dean wouldn’t have felt all this shit for him if they hadn’t grown up so close, so together that if anyone dared separate them, they’d have hell to pay. Though, if Dean is honest, he wouldn’t have traded that closeness with Sam for any ounce of normality in the world. He’d take it, good or bad. As to the money thing, since Sam knows him better than anyone, he was right about Dean getting the money through sex, not with women though. He was a pretty boy, he’s always known that and many men were willing to pay a pretty penny to have Dean’s plush lips around their cock. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, even being attracted to men, but he wanted to make sure that Sam didn’t starve and they had enough extra money to splurge sometimes.

He won’t ever tell Sam about that, he doesn’t need to know. Plus, if he had to do it again, he would. He’d do anything for Sam, anything.

 

_June 7, 1996_

_School is almost out for the summer and I’m ready for a break. I plan on reading a lot this year. A few of the books on my list are, A Farewell To Arms, Wuthering Heights, To Kill A Mockingbird and East of Eden. Since Dad is planning on staying here over the summer, last week Dean helped me get a library card for the Kearney Public Library so I can check out books. Thankfully, the library is only a few blocks away from the little house we are renting so I don’t have to bother Dean to drive me over there._

God, Sam was always such an adorable friggin’ nerd.

_Dean barely goes to school now, maybe three times a week. I think he just goes out of obligation. Dad doesn’t seem to care and that’s the most upsetting part. He called the other night to check in and see how we were doing. He asked us both about school and Dean didn’t lie when Dad asked him if he was going. All Dad cared about was that the car was working fine and Dean was at least doing something productive, which he is. He got a part-time job at a garage, Rasmussen Mechanical Services, a few miles away from our house. Dad’s proud of him and so am I. I’m glad he’s earning money safely at least. I think he might drop out soon, he keeps mentioning it in off-handed comments. I don’t want him to, but if he thinks that’s best I’m not going to be able to convince him otherwise. Dean is stubborn that way._

_If he does drop out, maybe one day he’ll go back and get his G.E.D. later on. He’s brilliant, he really is I just wish he thought so._

 

Sam has always been too good for Dean, always. He puts Dean on a pedestal way too high in the sky that Dean himself knows is unreachable and not even slightly true. But to Sam? Clearly, Dean is his knight in shining armor.

_June 16, 1996_

_There’s really nothing new with me. School is out for the summer and I spend most of my time lounging around our house or outside in the grass reading. Dean is still working part-time, not full-time. He’s just making enough so that we have food and necessities. I told him that he could work more if he wanted to, but I don’t think he likes leaving me alone all day. I’ve told him it’s okay, I am thirteen, I’m not a little kid anymore. He has this innate need to protect me, which is nice and all, but part of me hopes that maybe he sticks around all the time just ‘cause he wants to spend time with me. That’s what I like to think at least._

Of course Dean loves spending time with Sam, duh, why the hell would he even doubt that?

_Anyway, other than reading and the occasional sparing practice with Dean, I’m not doing much. Though, my body seems to be changing, puberty I guess. It’s weird. My… body parts have already started changing and growing and, yeah it’s weird. Really weird. What’s even weirder is the other morning I woke up and my underwear and my sheets were wet. It was all white and gross and bleh. I asked Dean about it and he almost laughed at me until he realized this was a completely new thing for me. He said it was a “wet dream” and that usually happens when you get to be my age and it’s an indicator for puberty starting. He also said I might start having dreams, like sex dreams._

_And I’m terrified._

Oh no.

_I’ve been having a lot of thoughts lately, thoughts that I shouldn’t be having and I’m scared that if I dream about these thoughts then it will make them real. I want them to be real, but I also don’t because I know they’re wrong. A thirteen year old boy shouldn’t be daydreaming about kissing his brother, but I do._

And there it is. Fuck. Sam’s been thinking about this since he was thirteen? Now Dean understands where all the anger directed at him came from when he brought girls home. Dean gets it, he fucking gets it now.

_It’s wrong and gross and I know it. No matter what I do though I can’t stop it and the worst part is, despite knowing how bad these thoughts are, I don’t want them to stop._

_What is wrong with me?!?!_

 

Dean sighs heavily, trailing his fingers down the smooth surface of the paper. If there’s something wrong with Sam, then there’s something wrong with him too.

Shit, he needs a drink. He shakily rises to his feet, journal gripped tight in one hand and heads into the living room to retrieve the bottle of whiskey off of the table. Taking a swig, he lumbers back into the bedroom and plops down on the bed, opening the journal.

 

_June 28, 1996_

_It’s been awhile, I know. I just… I haven’t been really up to the whole writing about my feelings thing. I’ve been kind of in a funk for the past couple of weeks. Honestly, I’ve been trying to not think about everything that’s going on._

_I had my first sex dream the other day, my first actual sex dream and yeah, it was about Dean._

Well, well, Sam is a big liar who lies. He said that his first sex dream was about Dani Green, one of the cheerleaders at Dean’s high school. Well, that was a load of bullshit.

_I woke up with cum in my pants like the fucking freak I am and then went into the bathroom and cried for like an hour. I didn’t tell him, obviously. He was worried though, I don’t cry often not unless something bad happens or he and Dad get hurt in a hunt so it was odd for me._

_I tried to avoid him, but he wouldn’t let me. He held me while I cried, thinking that maybe it was about losing friends or something, at least that’s what he kept repeating. “It’s okay Sammy, I know you miss your friends, maybe we can go see them in a few days, or you could write the ones from Illinois a letter. I’ll go buy you some stamps if you want, just stop crying kiddo, everything’s gonna be okay. I promise.”_

_I HATE when he calls me kiddo. It reminds me that I am a kid, I’m his kid brother and that’s all I am. Just his little kid brother who is slowly turning into a teenager and going through puberty and all that shit when all I really wanna be is someone he wants. But that’s never gonna happen and I don’t know how to deal. I let him take care of me the other day because it was nice. At least he touches me then. He gives me hugs, wipes away my tears and runs his fingers through my hair until I calm down. But it’s not enough, it’s never enough and I’m always left wanting more, more, more._

_Fuck._

 

Oh God, Sammy. If only he’d known. Nothing would’ve changed. Just ‘cause Sam felt like this doesn’t mean he ever wanted his feelings to be reciprocated. Hell, he probably didn’t, he probably just wanted to forget about it all. That’s why he left, that’s why he wanted to get away, to put Dean and all these unwanted feelings behind him so he could start over.

Fuck.

 

_July 1, 1996_

_Dean,_

_I guess since a majority of this is being written to or about you, I might as well start addressing at least some of these to you. Not like I’ll ever let you read them, ha. I mean, maybe one day, if everything gets to be too much and I can’t take hiding this huge secret from you, I’ll pack my bags, hand you this journal and then get the hell out of here._

_But for today, for right now I’ve decided that I’m going to try to be normal, at least as much as I can. It’s ridiculous to think that I can’t fight these feelings. I know I can, I just have to be strong enough. Too bad we aren’t in a place long enough for me to get a girlfriend or boyfriend. That would help, probably. I don’t know, but I have to try. You’re all I have Dean and I can’t lose you. I won’t. And that means doing everything in my power to get rid of all these feelings I have. It’s gonna take a lot of work and it might take a few years, but I’m going to get past this._

_I’ll be your little, geeky, pain-in-the-ass brother again Dean, I promise._

 

Sam will always be his pain-in-the-ass little brother. Dean wished Sam would’ve said something, wished that he would have told him so that maybe they could’ve worked this out together instead of Sam just friggin’ leaving and dropping the bomb on Dean like this.

Dean takes a few swigs of whiskey. Well, more like he finishes off the rest of the bottle and tosses it against the far wall where it breaks into a thousand pieces. He just wants to talk to Sam, that’s it but he can’t, he just fucking can’t. He has to read all of this first.

 

_July 4, 1996_

_Best. Night. Ever._

_This is probably shocking given the state of my past few entries. I guess… I’ll just start from the beginning._

_When Dean came home from work yesterday, he had this big box with him, it was taped shut but something was bulging out of the top and it kinda looked like a long pole. I was super confused at first, until I remembered what today was: The Fourth of July. He had this shit-eating grin on his face and he set the box at my feet with a, “Go nuts.” I tore open the box and on the inside were piles and piles of fireworks, including two roman candles, one for each of us._

_“Where did you get all this?” I asked him. Immediately I assumed Dean had stolen them, which would have been fine with me, duh, because fireworks._

_He shrugged, tilted his head to the side and blushed a little. “I bought ‘em.”_

_Dean always looks super adorable when he blushes. That’s irrelevant though. Moving on._

_So, at first I totally didn’t believe him. My brother, getting something for me and him without stealing it? That was like a miracle._

_“Wait really? With real money? Your own money?”_

_He slapped me on the side of the head and nudged at the box with his foot. “Yeah, smartass. I just thought that you know since Dad was missing a holiday again we could go out to that big field on the other side of town, just you and me and shoot these fuckers off. Give the town a real show, you know?”_

_I stared at him for a moment, just in awe at how lucky I am to have such an awesome big brother. Most teenagers, they don’t have this, they don’t have what we have. Sure they probably get along with their siblings well, but they’re not close, not like us. That’s because they don’t have Dean as their older brother._

_I’m pretty sure that when I got up off of the couch right then I practically toppled Dean over from hugging him so hard. He was a little shocked at first and didn’t hug me back. (I’d been avoiding him for the past couple weeks, you know with everything that’s been going on in my fucked up head). I think he noticed that I hadn’t been hugging him as much as usual, and he made sure that this hug was a good one. I could have done without the hair ruffling, but at this point I’ll take any and whatever physical contact he was offering._

_Anyway._

_It wasn’t dark yet, still a few hours until we could actually set off the fireworks and see them. So, I made dinner for once. It wasn’t anything special, hot dogs with extra ketchup for Dean and a squirt of mustard for me; a meal representing the good ‘ol American spirit of the holiday, at least according to what you hear about in books and stories. We also didn’t have that much to eat in our small fridge anyway, only a few frozen meals, hot dogs, hamburgers and a couple boxes of mac n’cheese and some frozen vegetables; there really wasn’t much choice._

_Dinner was good and because it was a holiday and Dad wasn’t there, Dean gave me a sip of his beer. I will never be able to understand how he always manages to get alcohol. I know he has a fake ID, but despite his good looks he still doesn’t look over eighteen, not compared to the eighteen year olds I see at school. I was just happy, in a sort of twisted way, to feel grown up for a few minutes. Sharing a beer with my older brother who I sorta have wet dreams about all the time; totally the definition of normal, right?_

_Not._

_The totally normal aspect of the evening was setting off the fireworks. Well, probably for Dean, not for me. A few days ago I said that I would be trying to push past all these feelings right? They’re just sexual mostly, or so I thought, you know so maybe I am just confused. I thought that until tonight._

_Now, everything is infinitely more fucked up._

_Dean waited until around dusk when small clumps of fireworks started appearing in the dark blue sky, then he drove us out to the field. He wasn’t kidding, it really was just a big ass field in the middle of nowhere about ten miles outside of town, perfect for setting off a shit ton of fireworks. As long as they didn’t set fire to any dry brush we’d be good, even then, no one lived this far out of town. Dean backed the impala up into the field so we could sit on her hood and watch our show as well as everyone else’s. Dean let me do most of the lighting._

_It was fun, friggin’ awesome actually. I love fireworks; they’re so beautiful and look like shooting stars exploding right in front of your eyes. Shooting stars you get to touch right before they explode. Usually, if Dad was there, he wouldn’t let us buy fireworks for the fourth. He always said that it was a waste of money or that we’d be better off just burning a fifty dollar bill._

_There was one moment tonight though that ended up being… basically life-changing._

_We were lighting the last two sparklers – those fireworks that don’t go boom, but when you light them they spray thousands of teeny sparks everywhere. It looks like bright golden lava spurting out of a volcano. We were just playing around with those when I looked over a Dean, casually, normal, and caught his gaze at the perfect second. It was like time stood still. The reflection of the bright sparks in his eyes left gold diamonds in his already sparkling green eyes. His face was washed in the light and he was smiling, bigger than I’d seen him smile in, well, a fucking long time. He looked beautiful, gorgeous, and if I were to be even more of a cheese I’d say he looked heavenly._

_It was right then, that exact moment looking up into Dean’s eyes I figured it out._

_All these feelings, sure they are sexual but it is a lot more than just that. Dean is everything to me. Everything. He’s my annoying, teasing, brother who loves to give me shit until I almost can’t stand to be around him. He takes care of me even when I don’t say I need anything because he knows exactly what I need sometimes even before I do. He’s the sun and the moon, and all the planets and the stars in the sky. I know he would die for me in a second if I asked and I would do the same for him. I would burn the world down for him._

_I am in love with him. I am hopelessly in love with my brother and there is no way in hell I can ever stop._

_God, I thought I was going to die when the realization hit me. My entire throat seized up and I just stared at Dean, grinning at him with the biggest and doofiest smile on my dumb face, while internally freaking the fuck out. What the fuck do you do with this kind of realization? So I just stood there until Dean got with the program and asked, “Sammy, you alright?”_

_I stuttered for a moment, my mouth incapable of forming words, mind still spinning a thousand miles a minute. “Yeah, I’m perfect.”_

_His sparkler went out before mine, the tip of the stick snuffing out in the night air. He dropped the dead stick into the grass and crossed over to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me against his side. After my sparkler died, he released me and jogged back over to the car, reaching into the back seat and pulling out the last two fireworks – the roman candles._

_Dean lit mine with his lighter and then lit his. They sprayed golden, sizzling and then shot up in a bright flash up to the sky a hundred feet above our heads, exploding with a loud boom. I let out a loud woop as the first twinkling ashes came twirling down from the sky onto the field, running out into them and they fell like rain drops around me. I raised my arms, grinning and turned towards Dean. He was grinning too, like seeing me so happy made him happy._

_Like I said: Best. Night. Ever._

_What made it even better is that we burned down that field, literally. A few of the falling sparks fell onto some dried grass and lit a fire as we drove away, AC/DC blasting out the speakers. I felt exhilarated for the first time in my life and Dean’s warm presence and raucous laughter coming from the seat next to me only intensified the feeling._

_Yeah, I love him. I really love him._

 

Tears slide down Dean’s cheeks, staining the paper and leaving little water marks all across the pages. He slams his fist into the mattress and tosses the journal across the room, curling in on himself and burying his face in his hands. Sam’s words repeat over and over in his head.

_I am in love with him. I am hopelessly in love with my brother and there is no way in hell I can ever stop._

His shoulders shake with the sobs and he grips his hair in tight bunches, tugging and pulling. He wants to tear his hair out; he wants to make the pain stop, to make it all go away. He just wants Sam back.

_I am in love with him. I am hopelessly in love with my brother and there is no way in hell I can ever stop._

Sammy. Come back, please.

Dean crawls off the bed and hovers around the floor until he finds the thrown journal. Picking it up, he falls down onto the bed. He doesn’t want to read anymore, well he does just not right now, but he’s curious. He’s too goddamn curious for his own good to wait.

Dean wipes the tears off his cheeks, settles back against the headboard and begins again.

 

_July 20, 1996_

_We’ve moved to Wisconsin and Dean_

Dean flips forward ten pages. He should read it all, but honestly he wants to know how Sam feels now. This was six years ago, what about now, how does Sam feel now?

 

_January 24, 1997_

_It’s Dean’s 18th birthday today. He’s officially an adult. Dad gave him impala today and after dinner Dean took me on a ride down a backroad, just us. It was awesome. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I swear the sunset shining down on his cheeks made a thousand freckles pop up on his skin like constellations. He’s beautiful, so goddamn beautiful._

_I wanted to lean across the console and kiss him. I didn’t, obviously. Instead I settled for an extra-long hug we shared after I gave him his birthday present – homemade pie. I think the noises he made while eating the pie almost made up for the lack of kissing._

_He went out later that evening, probably because he’s an adult now and can do whatever he wants. He was gone till morning, probably with some girl proving he isn’t a kid anymore or something I don’t know. Dean seemed happy again and that’s all I care about. He always cares so much about me and sometimes I worry there’s nothing left for himself. I wish he’d care about himself more, I wish he’d see why I think he’s so awesome._

_I wish I could show him, I wish a lot of things._

_Dean’s eighteen and I still have four and a half years to go._

 

He tears his eyes away from the page, marking his finger in the spot on the journal. Digging his cellphone out of his pocket he flips through his contacts stopping on Sam, hovering over his name. He can’t call Sam, not yet, but the need is like an itch that won’t go away. He wants Sam back; he needs to call him, and needs to tell him that he gets it, that he knows how it feels because he’s felt the same way since he was nineteen years old. Dean slams the phone shut and tosses it across the comforter.

Keep. Reading.

 

_February 14, 1997_

_Fuck Valentine’s Day._

 

 

_February 16, 1997_

_There’s a bent, heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting in the garbage can._

_It’s been there for two days, red covering wrinkled where a foot stomped down._

_Chocolate oozes out of the sides, dripping down onto the plastic bag,_

_creating a slimy brown trail like a slug._

_The gift was never addressed, just handed to._

_Not a joke, not a kind gesture,_

_just a natural one._

_“Here, Sammy. I got this for you.”_

_Your heart flutters in your chest._

_“Thanks Dean.”_

_How many brothers give each other Valentine’s Day gifts as a tradition?_

_Not many, you think._

_Your hopes are up, arching high into the sky like an airplane taking off._

_“I gotta go get ready for my date with Karen, but I just wanted you to have that.”_

_And then you fall, spiraling down and down_

_until you crash, fatally, into the ocean._

_You learn not to trust Valentine’s Day._

_The girls at school don’t want you; the boys at school don’t want you._

_He doesn’t want you._

_So much for the holiday about love._

_It’s bullshit._

 

Well, shit. Dean hadn’t actually _wanted_ to go out with Karen. She was pretty and a great kisser, and had these legs that stretched on for miles and miles and – not the point. He’d wanted to stay at home and watch movies with Sam like they’d done as kids. It had almost become a tradition by the time they were both teenagers. And then Dean started dating girls who basically lured him into doing the whole mushy-gushy Valentine’s Day thing. Sam never seemed interested in the whole dating thing, or the whole girl thing, or the whole sex thing, which…. makes a hell of a lot of sense now that Dean is reading his brother’s big incestuous confession journal.

Dean adjusts the pillow so it’s flat against the mattress and lays down holding the journal above his head. He’s been reading this thing for like an hour and barely even making a dent in Sam’s writing. The kid had a lot to say about him, and a lot to say about life, their life. It’s kind of eye-opening and really fucking depressing.

 

_March 4, 1997_

_We’re in Ohio for the spring, well at least for a few months, that’s what Dad says._

_I’m getting really tired of moving all the time. I realize that in order for Dad to continue hunting the thing that killed Mom he has to keep changing locations as soon as he gets a new lead. Except, with Dad every new hunt is a new lead, even if it has no similarities to the fire that burned above my ceiling fourteen years ago he still chases the monster down and kills it. Don’t get me wrong, we save a lot of people and that’s awesome, but at the same time I wish he would just leave us in one place for a longer period of time so maybe I wouldn’t keep having to moving and lose all of my friends._

_Dean doesn’t even bother making friends anymore, he makes girlfriends._

_He goes to school, goes to class sometimes and flirts with as many girls as he can just to get into their pants. Dean knows he’s attractive, he’s used that to his advantage all his life and he flaunts it. Girls love him; he’s sweet but just enough of an asshole to make everything exciting. Everyone swoons over him, even the girls in my grade who, like me, know he’ll never look their way._

_It’s infuriating and I hate it._

_The worst part is when he brings girls back to the house. Usually he knows better, especially if Dad’s around, but he forgets every once in a while and decides to make my life even more hellish. Dean isn’t noisy when he has sex, maybe that’s for my benefit I’ll never know, but the girls always are._

Yeah, it was for his benefit. Mostly Dean didn’t want to scar Sam for life and out of courtesy for his little brother’s innocence. Clearly, _that_ wouldn’t have been a problem.

_These girls, they always moaned like Dean was some goddamn sex god and no matter how many times he fucked them, they would never get enough. Probably true, too. If Dean could make them sound like that he must have been good at whatever the fuck he was doing._

_This one girl though, Alicia, she was probably the loudest. She said his name the most too, kept repeating it over and over again. “Oh Dean, keep going don’t stop, Dean, Dean, Dean!” She sounded like a porn star, which coming from a kid who feels guilty looking up porn at all, that’s saying something._

_I tried to not listen; I tried to focus on my homework with Nirvana blasting in my ears through my Walkman, but I could still hear her, that’s how loud she was. That same night I had a super in-detail sex dream, about Dean, of course._

Shit, fuck. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking read this.

_It started off somewhat innocently. I was older in this dream though, around Dean’s age. He was older too. We were in a hotel room, as always just watching Indiana Jones on the television, when Dean’s hand ended up on my thigh. And he was staring at me with this wide open expression, eyes sparkling amidst the darkness. Then he just leaned in and kissed me, soft and so gentle like it was the first time. Dean tasted sweet and wild, like honeysuckle and I just couldn’t get enough. His soft lips moved down across my jaw, peppering kisses there, sliding down to my neck and sucking a mark like he was claiming me._

_I wish he would. I want to be his._

_His hands slid underneath my t-shirt, pushing it off me in one fluid motion and he pressed a trail of kisses down my chest whispering, “Sammy” against my skin._

Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting.

_It wasn’t just sex. None of my dreams ever are. Dean is good at sex; my brain knew that, everyone at every school we’ve been to knew that. No, but with me it wasn’t like that, he wasn’t just doing it to get off. I remember this dream so much more vividly than all the others I think purely because of the fact that it was the first one where I could see his face. As he thrusted into me at an agonizingly slow pace, I could see his eyes, all blown wide. His lips were parted, just barely; he was panting and the amulet, the one I gave him thumped against his bare chest with every rock of his hips._

_It felt and seemed so real that when I woke up, I felt like crying. But I didn’t, I just left._

_I went for a run and didn’t come back until the sun was well-up and Dean yelled at me for scaring him half to death because I wasn’t there when he woke up. Better him yelling at me for being gone than peeking into my mind and seeing all the awful things I’ve thought about him._

_It’s not gotten any easier. I thought maybe as I grew older and more girls started to notice me that maybe I’d get over this. Wishful thinking, obviously, because I’ve known from the beginning this is more than horny fantasies of a sex-crazed teenager._

_I’m in love with him and he’s not in love with me, that’s just how it is and how it will always be._

_Unrequited love is a bitch._

 

The journal falls from Dean’s fingers. He scrambles to grasp the golden amulet, squeezing it so tightly the horns dig into the flesh of his palm. It’s not unrequited, he wants to yell, to scream as loud as he can so that wherever Sam is, however many hours and miles away, he’ll hear him and will come back. The amulet is the closest thing he has to Sam other than the journal, Sam gave this to him. He flattens his palm and presses the bronze against his chest over his heart. He grabs the discarded journal from where it fell onto his thigh and tosses it against the wall, again and curls up into a ball. Tomorrow there will be an imprint on his chest, almost like Sam was there. But he’s not and he’s never coming back.

He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.

The tears start flowing freely, coating the comforter in watermarks. His heart feels like it’s being ripped into two for the second time in one day. He can’t breathe, the sobs are shaking his body and all he wants to do is light himself on fire, that would hurt less.

Dean rolls over onto his side away from Sam’s journal, burying his head into the pillow. That’s enough reading for tonight. He’ll finish tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wakes up in the morning; mouth cotton dry with the rotten aftertaste of beer lingering in his mouth. His head is spinning like he’s on one of those rides at a fair where the more turn the wheel, the faster the contraption whips around. There’s also a tinge of nausea in his stomach. Dean can’t remember much from last night, except that his heart hurts, it feels like someone stabbed him with an invisible sword, and he’s bleeding inwardly.

With a grunt he rolls over onto his other side towards the far wall. His eyes catch on a bright purple journal, lying crooked against the wall. Right, Sam.

Everything comes back in flashes, Sam leaving, Sam hugging him good-bye, drinking, drinking some more, finding the journal Sam left for him and then reading it.

Sam used to be in love with him.

Shit.

Dean fumbles his way off the bed, staggering to his feet and lumbering into the bathroom. Turning on the facet he dips his hands into the cool water and splashes it on his face. He blinks away the droplets off his eyelashes and stares up at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are red-rimmed, blood vessels prominent in the whites of his eyes and the paleness of his skin looks even more so against the fluorescent lighting. Hell. He looks like hell warmed over.

There’s a cup resting on the counter and Dean takes it to get a drink of water. He pauses when he notices the toothbrushes in their holder, two now instead of three. His hands shake and the cup almost tumbles into the damp ceramic sink.

Sam’s gone, he’s gone and he’s never coming back.

In a manner of seconds Dean is crouched over the toilet seat, vomiting up every ounce of alcohol he drank last night. His head aches, pounding and thudding within his skull wanting to break through and kill him. He’s going to die. That’s it; losing Sam is going to kill him. Blindly he reaches up and flushes the toilet; it twirls and whirls down and away until the water is clean again, sparkling and new. Grasping the smooth surface of the seat, he returns to his feet. He holds onto the wall for balance, making his way out of the bathroom and into the living room. Dad is passed out on the couch, arm flung off on the side, mouth hanging open like a dead donkey. He’s out and Dean’s definitely not going to disturb him. Dean walks by the couch, treading carefully over to the cabinets in the kitchen. He finds the aspirin and fills a glass of water, throwing them back in one gulp and then he trudges back into his room, closing and locking the door behind him. It will be a few hours before his dad wakes up, good, that gives him some more time to read.

He picks up the discarded journal, collapsing back onto his bed and getting situated before unlocking the flap and flipping through the pages until he finds where he left off; 1997 after his birthday sometime. He settles on an entry sometime in the middle of June, takes a deep breath and begins.

 

_June 17, 1997_

_We’re in Arizona and staying in this small city, Drexel Heights, in the suburbs of Tuscon right next to a Native American reservation. Dad got wind of a spirit messing with the people living on the reservation so we’re here for the next week and a half until he can find the bones (if there are any) and burn it. I did some research on the case, because even if Dad won’t let me go out yet with him and Dean and actually hunt I can still look-up information. The ghost is a former mayor from the early 1900’s, Tom Hillington of Drexel, who was racist towards anyone who wasn’t white. He put the Native Americans in the area through some tough shit when he was alive and clearly still thinks that’s a bright idea even after he’s dead. Dad’s gonna get him though, he always does._

_I told Dean about the research and all the awful things I found out about Hillington. He grinned at me for a few seconds, ruffled my hair and called me a nerd, like I was still a little kid. Ugh._

_We’re staying in some cheap hotel with crinkling, heat wilted wallpaper and a moldy bathroom. They don’t even have air conditioning. Dean and I had to find a way to steal some fans from the local K-Mart so we didn’t die of heat stroke. It’s over one hundred every single day and even though I let in cool air in the morning and close all the shades and turn on the fans full-blast during the day it still stays somewhere in the nineties until after dark. I’ve resorted to only wearing my boxers and even then I’m still dripping sweat the entire day. I can’t wait to leave._

_The only bad part about this whole situation is the fact that Dean also walks around all day in just his boxers. I get it, I do, it’s really warm and it would be weird if he didn’t. But I’m a fuck-up and no matter how hard I try I just can’t stop staring. I only look when his back is turned and he can’t see me. I hope he doesn’t notice, that would be really, really bad. I don’t think he does though, or if he does he’s not saying anything. Maybe he doesn’t mind? No, no that’s stupid. Of course he would mind. I know he wouldn’t be okay with his little brother checking him out every single time he turned around. Ugh. Fuck._

_I guess while I’m just digging myself into a hole I’ll explain why I can’t stop staring. Partially because it’s Dean and I’m just a little bit in love with him, but he also has the most gorgeous back. Every single time he moves I can see his strong muscles twist underneath his skin, just like Swayze in that one movie, Dirty Dancing or something. I get so caught up in thinking about what it would be like to just touch him or to have him hold me again like he used to that by the time I realize I’m openly staring at him it’s almost too late._

_Wow, I sound like such a teenage girl. Christ._

_Maybe it’s the heat getting to me. I really need to get out of Arizona._

 

Oh yeah, Dean definitely remembers Arizona. That was an awful two weeks. They’d found the ghost easily enough, but it had been hotter than hell and the ghost they were dealing with didn’t go down without a fight. He’d ended up with a sprained wrist and a broken rib in the process. Dean didn’t realize that was why Sam had been staring at the time. He’d thought Sam was just worried about him after he got injured or looking at him like he was some sort of hero. Which, is probably true too, but this possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind, not at the time. This was way before he started feeling whatever the fuck this is between them.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, wiping at his still swollen eyes and flips forward a few pages.

 

_August 9, 1997_

_Stitches._

_Injured on my first hunt, a rookie mistake, Dad said._

_You told me I did good, that everyone fucks up sometimes._

_One neat little row of seven, crisscrosses on the fleshy part of my bicep._

_Your fingers press gently on my muscle, steadying me._

_In and out, in and out._

_A breath, a stitch, a breath, a stitch._

_You exhale and the warmth tickles my cheek._

_So close I can see a dozen freckles sprinkled across the arch of your nose,_

_in between your eyebrows, a swirl on your cheeks._

_I want to kiss the one on the corner of your mouth._

_In and out, in and out,_

_a breath, a stitch, a breath, a stitch._

_“You doing okay Sammy?”_

_I nod, breathlessly, mouth unable to form words,_

_all I can think of is kisses._

_Kisses and freckles._

_In and out, in and out,_

_a breath, a stitch, a breath, a stitch;_

_only one more left._

_Your eyebrow crinkles when you’re concentrating,_

_your hands feel good on my skin._

_I wonder what you’d do if I kissed you?_

_In and out,_

_a breath, a stitch._

 

Dean releases a breath and it comes out as a sob. That was the scariest day of his entire life. He’d seen the werewolf attack Sam, how the edge of its claw just barely grazed his arm and sent Sam tumbling into the underbrush. He ran to Sam’s side, while Dad finished the monster off, pulling Sam up into his arms, desperately fighting back the tears he didn’t want Dad to see. He knew Sam would be okay, it was superficial and Sam would be okay in a week or so after the wound healed. But his protective instinct had kicked in and he wanted to wrap Sam up and hide him from everything bad. Sammy wasn’t supposed to get hurt, never, especially not on his first hunt.

He remembers how Dad wanted to stitch Sam up, but Dean wouldn’t let him. He insisted on doing it himself, partially out of fear that Dad would fuck-up and make the scar look bad. That wasn’t the truth though, not really. Dean needed to reassure himself that Sam was okay, that Dean could fix him and Sam would be new again.

At the time Dean hadn’t wanted to kiss him, not yet, he’d hugged him for longer than necessary though and checked on the stitches every few hours to make sure they were healing up right.

Looking back Dean realizes that might have been the beginning. His feelings hadn’t breached the sexual realm yet, and they wouldn’t, not for three more years. All he knew was that when he saw the werewolf rip into Sam’s arm, taking a chunk of his flesh with it, Dean lost a piece of himself too.

Dean fumbles with the pages, resting the journal on his thigh to reach over on the nightstand and grab a few tissues. He roughly rubs at his eyes and crumples the tissues into little balls, chucking them across the room towards the garbage can, not caring if they hit their target or not.

He soldiers on.

 

_November 5, 1997_

_The past three months have been constant moving and changing of schools. It’s getting annoying. Dean and I are at Truman High School in Illinois now for maybe a month, probably less. Yesterday was our first day. We’re just waiting here until Dad can get back from his hunt then I’m sure we’ll be on our way again. It’s always another case, another town and another school. I miss when I was younger, Dad would try to stay put for longer than a month. We got to rent houses back then which was nice, even though hotels always feel more like home than any rental house._

_I met this kid today, Barry Cook, he’s pretty awesome. Kind of like me I suppose, he’s an outsider, a nerd and doesn’t fit in. This jerk of a kid, Dirk likes to bully him. I wanna pummel him until he’s a bleeding heap on the ground, but I can’t do that. If I wanna go to college I have to keep my record with school as clean as possible. If Dirk goes too far though, I’ll do it. I just met Barry, but I really like him. He’s a nice guy and I feel like we’re going to be good friends._

_If I’m honest, he might actually be a little cute too._

Sam had a crush on someone other than him? Yeah, Dean has to read this.

 

_November 13, 1997_

_A lot has happened in the past eight days. Barry and I have become really close. Like… super close. He’s a good friend and I think he might actually look up to me because I’ve been standing up for him against that Dirk kid. We’ve been hanging out every afternoon together in the library studying and sometimes I go over to his house while Dean takes over our hotel room with Amanda. It’s annoying and Dean is being annoying as always, but being with Barry is really nice. Lately, I’ve wondered what it would be like to kiss him. He’s the first guy I’ve thought about kissing other than Dean. I think he likes me too. There’s just this way he keeps staring at me and I know I won’t be here for long so it’s wrong to want something I know I can only have for a short time. I want to try though._

_I was looking up sexuality terms a few days ago and I think I figured out what I am: bisexual. I am attracted to people who are of the same and different genders as me. I’ve noticed that at school I find girls attractive, but the boys (not including Dean that is obvious) are attractive too._

_I feel a little better knowing that at least part of my attraction is normal._

_I’m going to hang out with Barry in a few hours; maybe I’ll make a move and see what happens._

So Sam’s bisexual, awesome, Dean is too. Barry though? Of all the boys for Sam to have a crush on, Barry was the least possible candidate in Dean’s mind. The kid was adorable, sure, which is probably why Sam was drawn to him and shy as a moth. He was nice though; at least Sam had chosen someone good, not some dickwad Dean would have ripped apart if he ever hurt Sam. Dean grins a little to himself and turns the page.

 

_November 16, 1997_

_Well, Barry and I aren’t together or anything, but we’ve definitely been kissing a lot. I’ve never kissed anyone before so when I kissed Barry for the first time while we were studying together, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Neither did he, but after a few tries we got it right and I started really enjoying it. His lips are so soft and he makes these cute little sighing noises every time I put my hand on his cheek when I’m kissing him. Before we kissed I told him I wouldn’t be here for long, that I didn’t want him to get attached. He told me it was okay, that he understood._

_My thoughts about Dean aren’t gone. I hoped they would be or at least being with Barry would help. And it has, a little bit. I’ve had less dreams about making out with Dean and more with Barry so there’s that. The other day though Dirk started agonizing Barry again and I confronted him. He called me a lot of things; it was “freak” that got me. He wasn’t wrong, I am a freak. Just the fact that he said it out loud in front of so many kids is what pissed me off. I know they don’t know my secret, no one does and no one ever will, hopefully. It still felt like he was exposing me and I was mad, so fucking mad that I had to hit him back. I hit him and hit him again and again until he was on the ground dizzy from my punches. I shouldn’t have done that, but with everything he’d been saying to Barry and then to me I just couldn’t take it anymore._

_Anyway, despite everything, I like this place and I really like Barry. I wish I had the time to get to know him more._

 

_November 22, 1997_

_I didn’t want to leave._

Well, shit. Dean had no idea Barry was Sam’s first kiss. He always thought it was Amy, that monster girl Sam met when he was like sixteen. Guess not. It’s good that Sam liked that school since he never really got to like places much before they had to leave. Dean wonders what would’ve happened between Barry and Sam had they stayed another month, another two months. Would Sam have gotten over Dean? Hell, Dean doesn’t even know if Sam still feels this way about him. It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. He loves Sam, and he wants Sam, fuck the consequences. But if Sam doesn’t feel the same anymore, then Dean will have to find a way to get over this and move-on, somehow. If Sam feels the same way still? Great. That doesn’t mean he wants Dean to act on his feelings. Obviously Sam left for a reason other than just wanting to go to college; Dean just doesn’t know for sure what that reason is yet.

 

_January 24, 1998_

_Dean turned nineteen today and the impala has been his for exactly a year now. We went out for burgers and milkshakes for dinner then afterwards drove out to an empty field, parked the car and lay on the hood until the sun set and the stars came out._

_I wanted to kiss him so fucking bad._

_I didn’t._

 

_February 15, 1998_

_A maroon pleated skirt, a crimson blush smile and shaking hands._

_“Will you be my Valentine?”_

_I couldn’t say no, she’d worked so hard on the card._

_Delicately cutout pink heart, pasted onto a larger one,_

_my name in swirled letters printed on the stark redness._

_Delilah was her name._

_She was pretty, long hair, even longer legs and a gorgeous smile that made my knees weak._

_Dinner, laughter, holding hands, and a kiss on the cheek at the front porch._

_But she wasn’t you._

_She wasn’t you._

 

Dean closes the journal after reading the poem and looks at his watch. It’s in the early afternoon, he’s been reading all morning. Food would probably be good. Also, he needs a break from this. There are only so many lovesick poems about himself he can read before the gravity of everything Sam is actually saying starts to hit. It’s still hard to wrap his head around the fact that for the past five years of his life Sam has kept this big old secret trapped inside his head and this little journal. It must have been killing him on the inside, poor kid. God, Dean just wants to talk to him. Maybe Sam sent him a message? Shit, where did he put his phone? Dean places the journal on the comforter and gets up, roaming around the room to look for his cellphone. It was in his pocket last night, but he can’t remember where he put it – Oh, it’s on the floor. He grabs it in one swift motion and flips through the messages. Nothing. He pushes the phone into his pocket and pads back out into the living room to face his father and the refrigerator.

John is awake now, sitting on the couch nursing a bottle of beer – not surprising. Dean offers him a slight head nod, not diverting away from his path to the fridge. He riffles through the drawers looking for the package of sliced ham he bought a few days ago and the block of cheddar cheese. He tosses them onto the counter along with the mayo and mustard and sets himself up to make a sandwich.

“How you doing, Dean?” John asks quietly from across the room.

Dean doesn’t even look up. The knife slides roughly through the block of cheese and hits the counter with a clank.

“Shitty. You?”

“I’m angry, Sam had no right to leave,” John says, as he places his bottle back down onto the coffee table a little harder than necessary.

Dean grinds his teeth and roughly slides the knife through another section of cheese. “He had every right to leave.”

“What?” John booms and Dean cringes.

“Sam’s an adult, Dad. He isn’t required to stay with us. The kid got into Stanford for fuck’s sake; can you blame him for wanting to get out of this?” He takes a few pieces of the meat out of the packet and places them on the bread and cheese. His blood is boiling on the inside, but outwardly, he’s calm.

“To get out of this? This isn’t something you get out of Dean, this is what we do, and this is our life. And he just left all of it. He’s acting like a selfish brat. He left me, he left our family and for what? To live a normal life, find some girl to marry and become a lawyer? He betrayed us. Aren’t you mad?”

That’s it. Dean slams the other slice of bread down on top and finally looks up at his Dad.

“Sure, I’m mad. I’m mad at Sam for not telling me, for keeping this shit a secret for so goddamn long and telling me right at the moment when I didn’t have a chance to go after him. I’m mad that he left me here and I’m mad I didn’t go with him. So yeah, I’m mad, I’m fucking pissed and  right now I don’t know exactly what that means because I’m in so much pain I can’t think straight. But you know what I’m the most angry about? You. I’m mad that you kicked your own son out just because you think he’s wrong for wanting a different kind of life than this. Sam just wants to be safe, he wants to stay in one spot for longer than week, he’s tired of seeing us get hurt and he wants to actually have a fucking life! And you kicked him out, for that, because in your mind, he’s selfish. That’s fucked up, Dad.”

Dean sees his father’s face turn cold, hard. His lips set into a thin line, eyes dark and stormy.

“Get out.”

“What? You’re not serious.” Dean gapes at him, mind sputtering out of control. This is not happening.

“I’m goddamn serious. You take the car and get the fuck out of my house right now and don’t come back until you can find it in you to apologize.”

Dean tosses the knife into the sink and throws up his hands. “Fine.”

He grabs his sandwich off the counter and heads back into his bedroom, picking his duffle up off the floor and beginning to stuff all of his possessions inside. Weapons go first, clothes, then bathroom stuff and last but not least the journal, plopped right on the top where he can easily reach it. With one last glance, he flicks off the light. Sandwich and keys in hand he heads to the door, not bothering to say good bye.

“Remember what I said,” John calls after him.

Dean doesn’t answer, but the gravel he sends flying at the windows of the house should be answer enough.

 

 

Dean drives until he finds a bar, parks the impala in the parking lot, leaving his duffle in the trunk, but takes the journal with him. After he gets a few shots of whiskey down and shifts to beer he reopens Sam’s journal where he left off, skipping ahead again. Dean is still pissed at John and he will be, for a long time, but Sam is more important right now and Dean needs a distraction.

 

_March 10, 1998_

_There’s a thought I keep going back to, something my English teacher back in Indiana said. He asked me if I wanted to go into the family business. I told him no. I don’t want to, honestly. He understood and encouraged me to do something I want to do. He told me that I’d be a good writer. I hadn’t really considered it before, I’ve only thought about being a lawyer. I just know that one day after I graduate high school I have to get out of here, I have to leave and put all this behind me, my entire past. I think since I know how abnormal I am, the idea of normality is like heaven to me. I want to feel like a normal person for once and one day I will be. I’ll go to Stanford, have my own apartment for more than just a month, and have my own things, my own money I made through legal means. I’ll have an actual girlfriend or boyfriend that I love and will be able to love me back. And eventually I’ll have a career, work in a field I actually enjoy and not have to worry about having enough food to eat or enough money to put gas in the car so I can make it home. I’ve never had a real home; it’d be nice to have one someday. Mostly, I just want to be free from worry, and free from worrying about everyone I love dying all the time._

_I want Dean to be happy and I want to be happy. That’s it._

 

Dean throws back another shot. He hopes Sam gets what he wants, he deserves to get out of this fucked up family. The bartender raises her eyebrow at him, worried at the large quantity of alcohol he is consuming.

“You okay? Girlfriend troubles?”

Dean chuckles, dropping the empty shot glass onto the counter.

“Yeah, something like that.”

She leans up on the counter, hands crossing in front of her.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Dean shrugs, leaning forward and matching her stance. “You wanna listen to me spill the details of my shitty love life?”

The woman leans back, smirking. “After six years of doing this job, I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

Dean doubts that.

He rubs his finger along the edge of one of his half-drunken beers, contemplating spilling all his dirty secrets. If he was more sober, he would probably hold his tongue. “It’s really simple actually. She’s been in love with me for years and I… found out too late. She just left to go to college and I’m pretty sure she’s going to get over me.”

“Why don’t you go after her?”

“I don’t think she wants me to. Like I said, I don’t even know if she still wants me.”

“Honey, if she’s been in love with you for years, she probably still does. Stop drowning your sorrows and go after her.”

“It’s not that simple… she’s… I can’t,” Dean can’t keep talking about this. There are only so many excuses. He doesn’t even know why he’s telling her all these things in the first place. Maybe because he’s needed to talk to someone about all this for a long time and she’s the only person who has wanted to know. She doesn’t know him, she won’t know the truth.

“Why not? Is she your cousin or something?”

Close enough, Dean thinks.

“Yeah, so you know it wouldn’t be right.”

The woman idly wipes a rag across the counter and Dean can see the gears turning in her head. Great, she’s probably going to kick him out now for being illegal or something.

“You really love her?” She asks after a few moments.

“More than anything,” Dean answers honestly. It’s one of the most honest things he’s said in a long time. If someone were to ask him who the person he loves most in this world, he could answer without a second thought: Sam.

“Well, in my opinion, genes don’t mean that much. I learned in biology class once that all humans share 99.9% of our genes. That little tiny percentage isn’t very large if you think about it compared to the entire human race. So what if you’re a little closer related; if you love her, you love her.”

Dean just stares at her, processing. A slow smile spreads on his face and he takes a swig of beer. She doesn’t know him, not any more than she knows every other drifter in this bar. To her he’s just some weirdo in love with his cousin. It’s better than being in love with your brother. There are enough people in love with their cousins that the idea nears normal. Being in love with your younger brother, well that’s far from normal.

“Thanks.”

He slides his now empty bottle across the counter towards her and shakes his head when she offers him another one. He wants to be at least a little coherent while reading Sam’s journal. He can’t forget any of this.

 

_October 28, 1998_

_Halloween is in a couple of days, my least favorite holiday. Mostly because all the dumb people who don’t know about the supernatural get grand ideas of trying to summon demons and aren’t prepared for when their summoning spells actually work, which means hunters like us have to burst in and save their asses before they die. I wish people weren’t stupid. Anyway, Dean promised me that we’ll go to a movie playing at the local Cinemaplex after school. I’m excited, I always love spending time with him, just us and it’s rare these days. I’m busy with high school and Dean keeps finding himself tangled up with multiple girls who demand his attention and Dad who occasionally takes Dean on hunts with him. I’m old enough now to take care of myself, I’ve been trained well at how to stay safe, but every time Dad tells Dean he has to leave, I don’t miss the look of guilt and sadness he shoots me before he walks out of the door._

_Part of me hopes it’s more because he wants to be around me versus needing to take care of me._

_I know that’s Dean’s thing, he takes care of people, he takes care of me, but I’m not a little kid and I don’t want him to constantly take care of me anymore. I wish he’d treat me like an equal. It’s doubtful but I can hope right?_

_I’ve been going on hunts too, but only if they are over the weekend. Dad wants me to be in school and I do too. Dean dropped out at the end of last year and the worst part was that Dad didn’t even care. He doesn’t give a fuck if Dean falls off the face of the earth so long as he’s here to help pick up Dad’s mistakes. He deserves better. I wish Dean could leave Dad; I wish we both could, just run away and live by ourselves. We’d be happier I think._

_Maybe when I go off to college in a few years Dean will want to come with me._

_That might not be a smart idea though, I’m trying to get rid of these feelings and if Dean and I are together, they will never go away._

_I’m caught in an endless loop and I have no fucking clue how to get out._

 

_November 3, 1998_

_Yesterday was the fifteenth anniversary of Mom’s death._

_Dad was gone, of course, he always is. I think it’s because he doesn’t want us to see him cry. He usually goes out on a hunt or to a bar, somewhere away from us. This year was really hard on Dean. I could tell something was wrong when I got home from school. He was just standing at the stove making dinner, like usual, but his shoulders were slumped down and his, “Hey Sammy,” was lackluster. I dropped my backpack by the couch and walked over to him, patting his shoulder._

_“Dean? What’s wrong?”_

_He’d shrugged as he stirred the macaroni and cheese. “You remember what today is right?”_

_“Of course.”_

_I stood next to him, not touching him, just waiting. I’d wanted to comfort him but sometimes, when things get serious Dean liked to be alone. I wasn’t sure if now was one of those times so I waited until he responded, “Yeah, I don’t know… it’s just hitting me that she’s been gone for fifteen years and I dunno, I’m just sad.” I know how hard he always tries to keep his feelings locked up in a little box, so Dean opening up easily was shocking, but I was glad. I didn’t say anything; I knew words wouldn’t do much, not with Dean. Instead I hugged him, wrapping my arms around his waist and ignored the startled little noise that left his lips when I did so._

_“You wanna watch Indy while we eat dinner?”_

_We did end up watching the movie._

_Afterwards, Dean made me do my homework while he sulked around the hotel room looking for something to do instead of wallow in his sadness. He popped open a beer around nine, sitting across from me at the table, watching as I finished up my math problems. I put my homework away at ten and got ready for bed, Dean hovering around like a moth. His eyes were all sad, tipped downward at the edges and he constantly looked on the verge of tears._

_Mom’s death never affected me like it did him. I was too young to remember her when she died, but Dean had almost five years with her; he remembers everything._

_The hotel room had two beds, one mine, one Dean’s and usually he automatically collapsed onto his own before I was done brushing my teeth. Last night had been different. Dean wandered around the room, flicking all the lights off and checking the doors multiple times before moving back to his bed and just standing there. He wasn’t going to ask for what he needed, he wouldn’t dare. I would have to ask for him._

_“Do you wanna sleep over here tonight?” My voice was super quiet in the darkness, barely loud enough over the hum of the heater in the corner._

_“Can I?” Dean had asked, turning around, eyes wide. He looked like a scared little kid right then, not a nineteen year old man who had killed monsters with his bare hands._

_I nodded, smiling a little so he knew that it was more than okay._

_Dean padded over to my bed and slipped underneath the covers, purposefully scooting to the edge of the bed as far away from me as possible. From behind his back I shook my head at him and gently grasped his right bicep._

_“It’s okay, Dean.”_

_This wasn’t about me, this wasn’t about how I felt, this was about him. He was in pain and I hate seeing Dean in pain and no matter what I will always do what I can to make him feel better._

_He turned over on his back, tilting his head towards me. “It’s not though. Dad would yell at us if he was here.”_

_“Dad’s not here, though. What do you need me to do?”_

_Dean sniffled, just a little and rolled back over, back to me. “I don’t know, just… I just…”_

_I sighed and scooted over to him, sliding my arm around his waist and pulling him back against me. It was awkward at first because I’m still shorter than him so my nose ended up on the crook of his shoulder, mouth pressed against his t-shirt. After I adjusted a little, clinging to him like a possessive octopus just like he used to do to me when we were little, I felt his hand press against mine where it was resting on his stomach._

_It took him awhile to relax. He wasn’t used to sleeping with someone, let alone me and I think he still had Dad’s voice in his mind telling him that we weren’t supposed to cuddle like this anymore. Eventually I felt his breathing even out and he started snoring softly, then I let myself fall asleep._

_I slept really well last night, better than I had in a long time. I think we both needed that closeness again. I already miss it._

 

Dean lets out a heavy breath, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. Of course he remembers that night. It’s been three years and he still remembers. Sam knew what he needed without him having to ask. Sam’s the only person he’s ever cuddled with too. He professes to hate cuddling; at least that’s what he tells the girls who ask him to cuddle with them after they fuck. He leaves, never staying long enough to know what they’d feel like in his arms. He tried it once, with this really insistent girl and it just felt wrong. As weird as it sounds cuddling has always been more than sex to him. It’s intimate and something he’s never wanted to do with anyone other than Sam.

Wow, that should have been a clue right there.

As kids they cuddled every single night until after Sam turned ten and Dad forced them to stop. Dean was always the big spoon, because he was older and bigger, but that night having Sam hold _him_ for once felt good in a million ways Dean hadn’t even imagined. He remembers the way Sam’s fingers curled up into his where they rested on his stomach, squeezing, a silent communication of comfort. He remembers thinking that was such a romantic gesture and Sam shouldn’t be doing that, yet it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to care. Dean misses that. He misses Sam’s hugs and the gentle way Sam would always pat his shoulder or touch the back of his wrist when he was trying to get his attention.

He just really fucking misses Sam.

And he really fucking wants to finish this goddamn journal.

Dean has had enough of the bar, pays for his tab and heads back to his motel for the evening. Once he’s changed out of his clothes and into a pair of sweatpants, he settles back against the headboard with a glass of water  and a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand just in case. He opens the journal again, flipping forward until he notices a crease in the corner of the page and stops there.

 

_January 24, 2000_

_It’s technically after midnight so this should say January 25th, but whatever. Today was Dean’s 21st birthday; he’s officially a real adult. Dad was actually here this time, probably because it was actually a significant birthday and we all went out to dinner at an actual restaurant in town. I think Dad might have found a way to pay for it legally too, I was shocked. Alcohol wasn’t a new thing for Dean, but he ordered a few shots of whiskey and a couple bottles of beer anyway. He didn’t get drunk, I didn’t expect him too either. It seemed like he had fun though, that was good. He flirted with the waitress excessively and I hid my angry blush behind my bottle of Coke. I tried not to be jealous, it’s his birthday he can go out and fuck whoever he wants. My thoughts and body don’t listen to my brain apparently though. He’s with her now at her house and won’t be back till early in the morning. I keep telling myself as long as he’s happy that’s all I care about._

_Since it was his birthday I got him a present. It was dumb, and probably not as important as I would’ve liked, but considering I don’t have much money of my own, well, no money of my own, I had to be creative with what I could steal. I got him a few bottles of oil for the car, since the impala is his now, he’s obsessive about making sure she is running in perfect conditions at all times. I also made him a card and this really… obnoxious coupon. It’s a “free cuddling” coupon, stupid I know. It might actually make me look like the lovesick teenager I am. I hope Dean won’t take it that way though, especially since I know this is something he wants even if he won’t say so. Thankfully Dad didn’t see the card, or the coupon, but even so Dean shot me a soft smile over the top of the card and my night was made. We’ll just have to wait until Dad is gone._

_I hope he had a good birthday, it seemed like he did. He was happy and that’s all that matters._

 

Dean chuckles. Oh man, his twenty-first birthday. Sam was right about the waitress, he did go home with her and she was a really nice and awesome girl. If they’d been staying for longer he might have actually gotten to know her. He never had time for that though; they never had time to make lasting relationships work. Sad fact about living a hunter’s life, they were constantly on the move.

He did end up using the coupon, as soon as he possibly could. It was around then Dean started to need Sam, really need him. Not just as his brother anymore, he wanted him. Sam had grown; he was almost taller than Dean and nearly seventeen. Almost grown. Dean still hated himself for all the thoughts he had back then, since Sam was his brother and more importantly still technically a kid. He lost himself in girls and boys, they helped, the boys especially. At least then he could pretend he was with the person he truly wanted to be with. It was wrong to the guys and wrong in general.

Then again Dean’s life was never lacking in a healthy dosage of self-loathing.

Dean asked Sam to use the cuddling coupon five days after his birthday. Dad had left again on a hunt and for once, per Dean’s request, he got to stay with Sam. It was late in the evening on the weekend and Sam was still doing homework (the ever diligent student he is), when Dean slid the coupon across the table top into Sam’s line of vision. And promptly went to stand by the sink and acted like he was doing dishes. He didn’t even turn the water on, but of course Dean was very inconspicuous. He remembers Sam asking, in that little adorable uncertain voice of his, “Really?”

“If that’s alright.” Dean had said, turning around. When he met Sam’s eyes he realized how not normal this entire situation was. Just as he was about to take back everything, Sam grinned.

“Right now?”

“Sure?” Dean shrugged.

Sam closed his notebook and jumped out of his chair to run over to Dean and wrap his fingers around his wrist, practically dragging Dean over to one of the beds. At the time he was really confused about Sam’s excessive excitement. It was just cuddling, something they used to do all the time and even though Dean had missed that aspect of their relationship and apparently Sam had too, he hadn’t acted like an overexcited puppy. It all makes sense now, though what with Sam having been in love with him for years.

Dean got to be the big spoon; after all it was for his birthday so he should get to call the shots. Sam was bigger now, more muscular and it was harder to hold him like he used to when they were kids. He still managed to wrap his arms around Sam’s torso and pull him back against his chest. Dean remembers the way Sam fingers slotted in between his, how Dean smiled into Sam’s hair and how a warmth of love for his brother just flowed through him and he never wanted to let go.

Dean glances up from the journal, realization dawning on him.

So that was it. That moment, when his brother’s gangly legs and fingers were tangled within his own he figured out Sam was it for him.

Sam was his everything and Sam would always be his everything, no matter what. As an adult the ability to be close to him like they had been as kids, provided Dean with a kind of intimacy that he’d been yearning for yet didn’t know he actually needed until he had it. Dean loved Sam, but it was more than that. He never said love, because it was more than just love. He didn’t even have a word for what Sam meant to him, that was the problem. He would die for Sam, he would kill for him, and he would do whatever he had to do to make sure Sam was safe. There were no limits on Dean’s love for Sam. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. He wanted him in every single way: as a brother, as a best friend and a lover. And before he started reading this journal the idea that he might get to have Sam in all of those ways was never a possibility, yet as he continues and Sam’s affection stays present on the pages his hope starts growing.

He doesn’t want to fuck this up. If he fucks up what he and Sam have he’s not sure they will ever be able to recover. That’s why even if Sam is still in love with him, Dean doesn’t know if he’s going to tell him the feeling is mutual. If they cross that line, there’s no going back. And Dean can’t lose Sam, he’d rather die. He’d rather live with this secret his entire life than lose Sam.

He won’t lose Sam, he can’t, not again.

Dean already feels like there’s a bullet in his heart, just permanently lodged there, with blood seeping out around it and into his organs and eventually all the internal bleeding will kill him if he doesn’t find Sam and see him soon.

He reaches over and grabs the glass of water off of the nightstand and gulps down a few mouthfuls then gets back to reading. As he flips through the pages he notices the entries slowly start to get shorter and more depressing. He might have to break into the whiskey.

 

_April 8, 2000_

_Dean,_

_I may hate myself for it, but god do I love you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_May 11, 2000_

_As of nine days ago I am seventeen. Only one more year until I can be free._

 

_September 4, 2000_

_I started my final year of high school today and Dean brought home a guy for the first time._

_I always thought that he might like guys too, or maybe it was just a stubborn part of my brain that was hoping he would so it would seem more probable that he could like me. He was an attractive guy to, shaggy brown hair, pretty blue eyes and just the right amount of toned muscle he could have been a model. I had to do a lot of mental gymnastics to try and stop myself from constantly imagining them fucking while I did my AP Calculus homework. I have a problem, okay? The guy, (Carter?) left before I went to bed and Dean looked completely debauched when he came out of his bedroom to walk Carter out. I stared for way too long and my focus was completely shot afterwards. How does he have no fucking clue what he does to me?_

_Fuck, why can’t I get over this?_

 

Shit. Shit fucking goddamnit. So all these times Dean thought he was mentally traumatizing his brother with his sexual exploits he was doing the exact opposite. Fuck and Sam felt so bad too, thinking that this is all one sided. Carter had been gorgeous, just turned eighteen two weeks earlier and his hair reminded Dean of Sam’s and they had similar body types. How could Dean not take him home when he was so preoccupied on trying to keep his thoughts off Sam?

Yeah, he was definitely going to hell.

How could he have been so oblivious?


	3. Chapter 3

_October 19, 2000_

_I sent in my application to Stanford today. I have the grades for it even if I don’t have the extra-curriculars. I’m worried they won’t accept me based on that fact alone. I took five AP classes WHILE moving around the country and still managed to get A’s. I don’t know what more they want from a prospective student, but I’m hoping that’s at least good enough to get me onto the waitlist. I haven’t said anything about it, I don’t want Dad to try and stop me. I think Dean knows something is up though. He keeps giving me these looks like he thinks I’m going to disappear into thin air and never return. He looks scared whenever he looks at me and I don’t know why unless he figured out that I want to leave._

_I don’t want to leave, but I NEED to. For my own sanity and livelihood if I don’t get the fuck out of here and away from him I will say something that I will regret and lose him._

_I can’t lose him, not like this._

 

Oh God, Sammy.

He barely has time to process what he’s reading. The words are starting to swim in front of his eyes he’s been reading for so long. Dean glances over at the clock on the nightstand, it reads a quarter after twelve, and he really should sleep. But he can’t stop now; this was all so recent, less than a year ago. Does that mean – no he can’t think about anything positive, not yet.

 

_February 12, 2001_

_I got my acceptance letter to Stanford and they gave me a full ride for all four years. I’m speechless. It’s taken a few hours to actually hit me that in six months I’ll be in college and in a stable place for longer than just a few months at a time. I’m so fucking excited and scared to death. Dean would be proud of me I’m sure, if I told him, but I can’t say anything yet. He might try to stop me or let it slip to Dad and then I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to go._

_I don’t care what they think, I’m going. It’s a new start, a new beginning and I need it._

_Though, if Dean tried to convince me to stay I probably would. He’s my weakness; I can’t let him get to me._

 

Sam is right. Hell, Dean pleaded with Sam to stay when he left. He was crying and Dean hardly cries. It was selfish, Dean knows that, obviously, but he’s not sure he can live without Sam. How is he supposed to go on when the person he loves most in this world isn’t at his side?

_May 2, 2001_

_I’m eighteen, finally legal. Dean let me drive the impala for the first time today. I drove out to this park by a river nearby the town we are staying in. We cracked open a few beers, had some of Dean’s awesome homemade sandwiches and sat on a log with our feet in the water. It was relaxing, and my whole body felt alive and bubbling with happiness. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt so happy around Dean and not ashamed. I miss that. Anyway, it was a pretty good birthday overall._

_I’ve been trying to spend more time with Dean lately. Only three more months and I will be gone and out of the hunting life, for good. I might not see Dean for a long time. It kills me when I think about being separated from him, and still part of me contemplates asking him to come with me. I know better._

_Sometimes I wish we weren’t brothers._

_Except, I know he wouldn’t love me as much as he does if we weren’t._

_I can’t win._

 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if they weren’t brothers. Dean wouldn’t be stewing over this entire situation if they weren’t brothers. If Sam wasn’t his reason for breathing, his reason for living, his happiness, this would be easier so much easier. This entry was written was three months ago, Dean’s hope scale raises a few notches.

 

_June 3, 2001_

_I graduate high school in three days. I’m so fucking excited and so ready! Dad says he’s going to be there; I’ll believe him when I see him in the crowd. Dean will be there of course, he even got a fucking blow horn to yell at me when I walk across the stage to accept my diploma. He’s the most embarrassing and awesome big brother ever._

_I’m simultaneously pumped and dreading leaving._

_June 15, 2001_

_I’m officially a graduate and will be leaving for college in two months. Dad and Dean don’t know. I’m trying to act like everything is going to be the same. Now that I’m out of school, I’ve been going on more hunts, which only makes me realize that I really don’t want to do this anymore, ever._

_It’s not so much the hunting, it’s the injuries the possibility of death, the possibility of Dean or Dad dying. Two days ago when we were hunting a wraith in the woods outside of Duluth, the fucker tossed Dean up against a tree and knocked him out. I didn’t care if the thing attacked me, if it killed me, whatever, I rushed over to Dean and pulled him up into my arms, checking for a pulse to make sure the damn thing hadn’t killed him. I was so scared, I don’t know what I would do if Dean died. I can’t live without him._

_Shit, if I can’t live without him, how the hell am I going to go to Stanford? I… fuck._

_Anyway, Dad was pissed at me afterwards because I’d abandoned the hunt. I told him Dean was more important and the soft smile Dean shot me over Dad’s shoulder was worth the chewing out Dad gave on the car ride back to the hotel. I stitched up the gash on the back of his head later that night and had to force my hands to stop shaking. All I wanted to do was pull him into my arms and hold him until my body knew he was safe. I physically wouldn’t be able to function if Dean died, just him getting hurt sent my body into a confused and terrified mess and I couldn’t concentrate for days afterwards. I had trouble sleeping, and constantly had to get up in the middle of the night to make sure he was okay. I’m so fucked up. God._

_I keep finding excuses to hug him too. If he makes dinner, I hug him. When we come home from a hunt, reasonably unscathed, I hug him. I hug him every night before we go to our respective beds/bedrooms. At first he kept giving me strange looks, those ones where he narrows his eyebrows and kind of just stares at me, contemplating what is wrong with me. (Newsflash: A lot). As of last night, I don’t know what changed; he keeps relaxing into the hugs and staying there with his arms wrapped around me until I pull away. Me, he waits for me to pull away. Maybe he thinks I’m just being clingy and I miss the closeness we used to have, who knows. I doubt he suspects anything else._

_Sometimes his fingers clench my shirt and I feel his fingertips on my back, burning through the fabric of my shirt and – that’s usually when I pull away._

_I never want to pull away, but I have to._

 

Dean flips ahead, glancing at the dates. Three entries left. Fuck. He throws back the bottle of whiskey, cringing when it burns a fiery trail down his throat. The burn feels good and as it spreads down to his stomach, flowing throughout his entire body and euphoria takes over. Good. Now this won’t hurt.

 

_July 4, 2001_

_Dean,_

_It’s been five years. I’m still in love with you._

_I dreamt about you again last night. It was only one of the thousands I’ve had over the years, but for some reason this one is sticking with me more than the others. The others exist only in my memory as phantom touches of kisses and ghosted fingertips on my skin. Some were kinky (don’t even get me started), some were beautiful; sometimes you just kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I wanted you so bad that when dream you fucked me I screamed when I came._

_I hope I didn’t while I was sleeping, if so I’m sorry._

_Anyway, this dream, this one was different. It was the first time I didn’t feel ashamed when I woke up._

_Why was it different? I didn’t get it at first; everything was gentler, slower. You still kissed me until I couldn’t breathe, but this wasn’t about pent up sexual frustration, not this time. You touched me like I was something special, like you were worshipping me. I can’t even describe it, other than to say you made love to me like I was your everything._

_I woke up crying, not out of shame for once, out of relief, happiness. That dream was exactly what I’ve always wanted, I’ll never get, but to get that from a version of you gave me the closeness I’d been craving for all these years._

_I don’t know if these dreams will ever stop, I think I’m slowly starting to accept the fact that I’m not going to get over you, ever. There’s always going to be a piece of me that still loves you in this crazy fucked up way and I’ll just have to live with it and fall in love with someone else. Someone I can actually have._

 

The mostly full bottle of whiskey hits the wall and crumples onto the floor. Slivers of glass fan out, twinkling in the moonlight. His fingers twitch against his pant leg, anger and arousal and anger at his arousal coursing through him. Sam is his everything. Dean wants to give Sam all that he wants, but now he fucking can’t because Sam doesn’t want anything to do with him or these feelings. But now Dean is the one who’s fucked. His entire body craves Sam, Sam’s arms, Sam’s voice, Sam’s smile and dimples, Sam’s warm body pressed against his. But it’s too late, it’s too late.

He’s going to have glass embedded in his feet tomorrow. Too bad he doesn’t care.

 

_August 7, 2001_

_Five days left and I decided that I’m going to give this to Dean when I leave. Regardless of what he thinks of me afterwards he needs to know the truth._

_I have to put this all behind me so maybe I can move on._

 

Dean is having trouble breathing and there’s only one page left. He feels sick.

 

_August 12, 2001_

_Dean,_

_It’s nine thirty in the morning and you’re making breakfast. I can smell the bacon all the way in my room. It reminds me of you, it smells like home. You’re humming Zeppelin to yourself and I know, without looking that you’re wearing that dumb white lacy apron you found at Goodwill last week. Your eyebrows are all crinkled together in concentration; I’m sure as you try to flip the pancakes with the expert skill you’ve acquired over the years. I’m going to miss your pancakes._

_I’m gonna miss a lot of things._

_I’m going to miss how we brush out teeth together, shoulders and elbows bumping in front of the mirror, fighting for space. I’m going to miss your nasty gargling you do right before you spit and then grin at me, showing me your clean teeth. Then there are your model faces you make in the mirror while you fix your hair with gel in the mornings, you always blush when I catch you and act like nothing happened, but I know. You can’t hide that shit from me, especially when you take longer in the shower than I do and I actually use conditioner._

_I’m going to miss the car and being with you in the car. The impala is my home; our home. Our lives are so intertwined with that old car that so many of my memories involve you and me tangled up together in that backseat, trying to fall asleep in the darkness while Dad hummed Bob Dylan to us. I’m going to miss lying on the hood, your arm resting against mine and watching the stars together, not talking just being. I won’t ever be able to do that with anyone else, it’ll feel wrong. Thanks for that._

_I’m going to miss the way you take would care of me when I got hurt during a hunt or even just playing outside. How you’d gently bandage up my wounds and kiss the band aid when you were done. I did the same for you too. It’s kind of our thing. I don’t know how I’m going to get through my first injuries without you there. Hopefully, I won’t have any._

_There are two things that I’m going to miss the most: the sound of your voice and your hugs. I won’t be able to hear you say my name anymore, you won’t be there but the sound of you saying my name is so ingrained into my memory after eighteen years I think maybe I might be able to hear you across the country. The wind will carry your voice to me, it will carry a piece of you into my new little world and envelope me and remind me of home._

_Wow, that’s romantic. Sorry._

_Anyway, hugs. You gave me so many over the years I lost count. I remember one year when I was eight I tried to count them all and gave up around four hundred. None of my other friends at school ever talked about hugging their brothers, and they gave me weird looks when I would hug you before running off to class. They acted like it was weird. Maybe it was, I don’t know, but I’m going to miss them. Your arms are so strong and I always felt safe inside them, even as a little kid. I don’t know if that was because you are older and I liked being able to snuggle up into your chest when I was scared or hurt. I’m just going to miss being close to you._

_We’re so close you and me, it’s frightening. I know what you smell like and can recognize your presence the instant you come into a room, I know the sound of you walking, the tempo of your breath and I can pinpoint the moment you get a cold just by the change in your breathing pattern. I know you inside and out and I don’t know how I’m going to force myself to walk out that door in a few hours._

_I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry if this makes you hate me. I’m sorry I am a fuck-up and can’t understand how to love you in the right way. I can’t help it and I can’t stop. That’s why I’m leaving. I wanna learn to be normal and I can’t do that when I’m around you. The way I love you is too big, too much and overwhelming for me to ever get over this and still be with you and Dad._

_Forgive me for being in love with you._

_Love,_

_Sam_

 

Dean stares at the last few sentences, re-reading them over and over. The ink is still fresh; it’s blackness stark against the whiteness of the page. A few days ago Sam was still in love with him. It takes twenty-four hours to get to Stanford from Kansas. He could drive there, easy. He’s done longer drives before.

_Forgive me for being in love with you._

Sam has no idea, no fucking clue Dean feels the same. He gave his journal to Dean thinking that Dean was going to disown him or something. Dean wants to drive to him, he wants to tell Sam everything, kiss him until he gets that he loves Sam just as much as Sam loves him. But he fucking can’t. Why? Well, it’s really quite simple actually. Sam made it clear that no matter how much he wants Dean, he doesn’t want Dean to act out on his or Sam’s feelings. Sam wants to move on. He wants to stop being in love with Dean.

Dean can’t fault him for that, because what they feel for each other, yeah it’s fucked up and they shouldn’t act on it even if they both want to. Dean knows this, internally of course, his brain keeps telling him over and over again like a scratched record. Yet, of course the non-rational part of his brain and his heart is singing with the revelation that he’s not alone in this and maybe if they both acted on their feelings then things would be better. Doubtful, but who knows? This entire situation couldn’t get worse than it already is right?

He digs his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contact list until he lands on Sam’s name. Opening a new message, his fingers hover over the keys. He types out a quick message, pausing before hitting send, then with a half-hearted shrug he hits send and sighs heavily, resting his phone on his thigh, waiting. Sam should still be awake; it’s only the early afternoon. His phone vibrates a few seconds later and he almost chucks it off the bed in his haste to read the response.

_I miss you too._

Dean hates that his heart flips; he hates the smile that rises on his face like the morning sun and the warm blush that spreads over his cheeks. Before he can stop himself he replies.

_Are you there yet?_

Sam texts back with lightning speed. It makes Dean feel a little better that Sam is just as eager to talk to him as Dean is to talk to Sam.

_I got here about an hour ago and I’m just starting to unpack all my shit._

His phone vibrates again, twice, a few seconds later.

_How are you?_

_Are you okay?_

Dean huffs a laugh and shakes his head. Just like Sam to try and be a subtle little shit.

_I’m alive. How are you?_

_Sam: Alive._

_Dean: Good. Let me know if you need anything._

_Sam: I will. Love you Dean._

_Dean: Love you too, Sammy._

Dean has never meant those three words more. He doesn’t say it much, he never said it much, definitely not enough. Probably because I love you just didn’t explain what he felt for Sam. They’ve never been the kind of family to say “I love you” all the time, but since there aren’t any words or phrases to accurately convey his emotions, he has to settle with the accepted remark of endearment.

He pockets his phone when another reply doesn’t come and returns the journal back into his duffel. His body is achy in a thousand different places it feels like he just came back from a hunt. Emotional turmoil can really tire a guy out. Scooting down, he adjusts his pillow and flops down onto his back, rolling around a bit until he gets comfortable. He settles on his side, arms pressed close up against his chest, one hand wrapped around the amulet, taking comfort in the way its horns dig into the fleshy part of his palm.

Sleep. He’ll sleep for a few hours and then search for a hunt. If he’s going to deal with this whole being-in-love-with-Sam thing he needs a hunt, he needs a distraction.

Repression has always been his number one form of dealing with things he doesn’t want to deal with and that definitely isn’t going to change now.

 

 

Dean hits the road the next morning around six. The sun is just peaking above the horizon, splashing the entire world into a sea of orange and gold. He heads toward the brightness, gas pedal pushing against the floor until the impala reaches her limits. And he drives as far away from Sam as possible.

When he stops in a small town somewhere in the middle of Missouri for dinner he grabs the local paper, searching for the tell-tale signs of strange killings or deaths that signify a hunt. Of course, just when he needs a hunt the most, he comes up empty. He continues east, if he drives far enough eventually he will either find something or reach the Atlantic Ocean and can drive straight into it.

No, he won’t do that, but that’s what he feels like doing.

Dean thought that driving would soothe him that maybe the constant thrum of the impala beneath him and Robert Plant would help his mind to calm the fuck down and stop battling him at every second to turn around and drive to Sam. He was wrong, driving only made everything worse.

Every single damn time he looked over and saw the empty passenger seat, he was reminded that Sam was gone. Sam wasn’t with him, Sam was at Stanford, and Sam would never hunt with him again. Dean is used to being lonely, he always has been in the romantic relationship terms, he’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, but this loneliness, being without Sam? It’s almost too much to stomach and he has no idea how he’s going to manage. He needs to kill something or fuck someone. He needs to do something otherwise this gaping hole within his chest is going to cave in on itself and eat him alive.

He finds a hunt in Morehead, Kentucky; an easy one too, a ghost or spirit, by the sound of it. A woman and her daughter moved into a house a few weeks ago and just recently started noticing cabinet doors opening and closing, and menacing messages written in blood on the wall. A piece of cake in Dean’s book, he’s taken care enough vengeful spirits on his own he could probably do this with his eyes closed.

But as per the protocol Dad ingrained into his memory of the years, he goes through the motions: interviewing the family, browsing the home for EMF, which produces enough beeping to solidify his suspicions and books a hotel for two nights, just like Dad used to.

It’s really weird asking for one bed, it feels wrong and he has to pause when he walks into the room for the first time. The motel is shabby to begin with, the curtains yellowing in large patches and moth-eaten on the corners. The bed looks relatively clean, he’s slept in worse so he’s not complaining, it’s cheap, he’ll deal. He drops his duffle on the bed, cringing at the exaggerated squeak it makes under the weight of his bag. Greeaaatttt. The bathroom isn’t in much better shape, the ceramic coating on the toilet, counters and sink are chipping in places and the entire room needed a renovation probably twenty years ago.

He goes through his regular evening ritual: teeth, face, piss, check the locks twice, put a gun under his pillow and plug in his cell phone to charge for the night. He calls the woman’s daughter before he goes to sleep, Kara is her name, and lets her know that he’ll be around tomorrow morning to take care of their problem. She thanks him about five times and asks him out at the end of the conversation. Against his better judgement he agrees. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty-two, it’s legal, and she’s cute, so why not? Tomorrow she’s going to think he’s a hero, he’ll give her one hell of an orgasm and she’ll suck his dick and then everyone will be happy.

Except, since Dean apparently has the worst luck in the world, none of that ever happens.

The spirit isn’t as easily dealt with as Dean figured and he comes out of the entire ordeal with a couple of bruised ribs and a laceration on the top of his right shoulder blade. Peachy.

He’s in Kara’s home, catching his breath and wincing in pain when she settles next to him on the couch, still clearly shaken and upset, a permanent little pout on her lips.

“Are you okay?” She asks, placing a gentle hand on his right shoulder, just above where blood is seeping through his shirt from his wound.

“I’ve had worse,” He says, leaning forward and grasping at his ribs. Painkillers. He needs painkillers and alcohol.

“You want help?”

“With?” He asks, turning to look at her.

“Stitching up the cut. I don’t think you can do it yourself. I know what I’m doing; they taught us how to use a basic med kit in my health class last year.”

Dean shakes his head. That requires taking off his shirt, which requires her seeing all the rest of the scars littering his body, which results in more questions and why he’s doing this alone. “I’ll manage.”

“Dean,” She says, scooting a little closer on the couch. He knows where this is going. “Let me help, it’s the least I can do for you after you saved my family.”

Her hand is warm on his shoulder. She won’t hurt him and the touch feels good. He wants someone to touch him, yearns for it. She’s a nice girl, at least she seems like it and hell if she fucks up the stitches, he will have another fucked up scar to show off. It’s better than him trying to do it himself in the mirror.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back, wait here.”

She comes back a couple of minutes later with a first aid kit, a bottle of beer and a shy smile on her face. She plops down next to him, popping off the cap of the beer and handing it to him.

“I figured you’d need this.”

He smiles, just a little, enough for her to know that he appreciates the gesture. “Yeah, thanks. So do you want me to walk you through this or do you know what you’re doing?”

“I got it. I promise. You’ll be as good as new in no time. Can you get your shirt off?” She asks, a red blush spreading across her cheeks.

He holds in the laughter that bubbles up in his throat. She’s more innocent than he thought. “I think so; you might have to help me though.”

She nods, waiting and watching as he does try to get his shirt off, but his ribs throb in a pain when he raises his arms over his head and he curls in on himself.

“Okay, okay, wait. Let me.” She reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt and pauses, fingers hovering there before he nods in permission. She grasps the fabric, fingertips softly brushing his stomach as she rolls the material up and off his head, tossing the ruined t-shirt to the floor. Kara adjusts her position so she’s behind him and he waits with bated breath for her to start. She’s the first person outside of family, friends and a nurse who has stitched him up. He realizes after huffing in and out that he was holding his breath, waiting for the pain that never comes. She’s gentle, threading the needle in and out of his skin way too easily for someone who isn’t practiced in the art. Kara is almost as good as Sam, almost, close enough that he can pretend it’s Sam’s fingers brushing lovingly over his skin and not hers.

He’s sooooo going to hell.

Kara rests her hand on his shoulder when she finishes, nudging him a little so he looks at her.

“Five stitches, you’re all better now. It didn’t hurt too much did it?” She asks. Somehow during that entire time she’s moved closer to him and back to the side of him. Her leg is pressed against his and he knows due to the slight press of her hand, she’s not moving anytime soon. He doesn’t really want her too.

“No, you did great. Real professional, I’m impressed. Thanks.”

“No, thank you for saving my life.”

Her eyes are sparkling, golden in the sunlight drifting through the nearby window and they remind him of – no, no, focus! Kara’s hand slides from his shoulder, hesitant fingers skimming over his cheek. Then she’s leaning in and her lips are on his. She tastes like cherries and coffee, sweet like summer. The first kiss is chaste, innocent like Dean knows she is, but then she surges forward and Dean is proven wrong. She definitely knows how to kiss.

They sit there for a while, making out on her couch. It’s nice, easy; he doesn’t feel like she expects more of him which is nice for a change. Not that he doesn’t want to, but he can’t right now. He’s wounded externally for one, but it’s the internal wound he’s more worried about.

He pulls away when his shoulder gives a sharp stab and he cringes.

“I should go,” He says, releasing himself from her hands and rising to his feet. His head feels a little loopy; it’s been a long time since he’s let someone kiss him like that.

She stands with him, eyes wide, watching him as he retrieves his shirt and painfully puts it back on. He’s seen this look before, she’s worried she did something wrong. It’s not her, it’s never them; it’s always him.

“Are you going to be in town for long? Maybe we could go out sometime?” She asks, grabbing his fingers when he reaches the door.

He looks at her, really looks at her. She’s gorgeous, sweet and he knows that if he did stay in this town, he could end up going out with her, more than once. He can see the process: dates, meeting the rest of her family, retelling the story of how he saved her life over and over again. He’d get a real job, buy her a real ring and they’d have a real life. It’d be perfect, it’d be safe. A little part of him wants that domesticity, that safe life where he wouldn’t have to worry about what stolen credit card his next meal is going to come from, if the hotel he’s staying at has bed bugs or not and if his baby brother is going to be okay. But this is his life, and as much as he hates the constant leaving and not having all the things he so desperately wants, it’s all he knows, it’s all he’s ever known. While a part of him hates it, another part loves the consistency of being on the road and not knowing what he’s going to find next, of saving people’s lives and living a rootless existence with Sam at his side. If he had a choice, he’d choose this life over normal any day.

In the end, everything always comes back to Sam, always.

“I’d like to, really I would, but I’m leaving in the morning. My Dad called last night and he needs my help with a job up in West Virginia.”

Her face falls and instantaneously guilt and regret twist their pointy thorns inside him.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

Dean shakes his head, squeezing her hand. “I wish I could stay, I do. You’re great. And beautiful, I’m just… not the kind of guy who stays in one place for too long.”

She drops his hand, stepping back and smiling politely, “I get it I do. It was nice to meet you, Dean.”

“You too.”

He doesn’t wait until the morning; he packs his bags the moment he returns to the hotel room, changes into a clean shirt and takes a few aspirin, and heads out of town without looking back.

He puts in a Zeppelin tape, one of their older ones and relaxes into the familiarity of the music.

_Oh, Baby, it's cryin' time, Oh, Baby, I got to fly._

_Got to try to find a way, Got to try to get away,_

_'Cause you know I gotta get away from you, Babe._

He pulls off to the side of the road fifteen minutes later and sends a text to Sam.

_I don’t like driving around without you. Passenger seat is too empty and there’s not enough snoring._

_Hope you’re okay._

When he checks an hour later after stopping for gas, Sam hasn’t replied and Dean isn’t sure he remembers what happiness feels like anymore.

 

 

_3 Months Later:_

An erratic buzzing and blasting of Rock You Like a Hurricane awakens Dean from sleep. He had just laid down about an hour ago after an evening of interviews with witnesses for a case and was hoping to get a few hours of sleep before the sun rose, but apparently that wasn’t in the cards for tonight. He rolls over, grappling blindly in the dark for his phone, flipping it open and holding it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

No one responds at first, then there are a few seconds of intermittent static and a familiar voice comes over the line.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Sam?!” Dean says in disbelief. Well, he’s awake now.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m here, in Wisconsin, a few miles away. I had to find you, Dean; I couldn’t keep going on without you.”

Dean scrambles out of bed and starts to pull on his shoes, using his shoulder to keep the phone against his ear.

“Where are you? What’s the address?”

“560 North Amber St. I’m in room ten.”

Dean slides his jacket on and tosses his keys in his right front pocket. He’s a nervous wreck, running around the hotel room like a madman, trying to get everything together.

 “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Great. I can’t wait to see you.”

The line goes dead and Dean buries his phone into the front pocket of his coat, barging out the door towards the impala. Sam’s here. Sam is here, to see him! Holy shit. Wait that means Sam still wants him; Sam gave up college to try and find Dean so he could be with him. Shit. A pit of anxiety rolls around in his stomach like a loose bowling ball and he feels a little dizzy. He’s not sure if he’s ready for this. Sure, he wants Sam more than anything but this is huge and he didn’t expect to have the “are-we-ready-to-have-an-incestuous-relationship” conversation _today._

The address is nearby, a few miles and he reaches the hotel easily. He drove by it earlier in fact and wonders if Sam was already here when he passed by. That’s trippy. Dean pulls into the parking lot, right hand shaking as he parks the car and turns off the ignition. He just sits there for a few seconds staring at the door. Sam is behind that door. His floppy haired little brother he’s hopelessly in love with is behind that door. The ball of anxiety is now ten balls and he feels like he wants to throw up that fucking awesome hamburger he had for lunch earlier.

_Man up, Dean._

He sucks in a breath and releases it with a gush of air, pushing open the door and rising to his feet. Slamming the car door he walks over to the room Sam is staying in and knocks gently on the door, stuffing his hands into his pockets while he waits. A strange putrid smell hovers around the area, like someone left out a bunch of food in a garbage can and it’s all starting to rot. Dean glances around, no garbage can; it’s just a regular dingy hotel. Something isn’t right, this isn’t right. Sam is a clean freak, he has to smell nice one hundred percent of the time, Dean would know, he always bought Sam cologne and deodorant and remembers how pissy Sam would get if he got the wrong kind. Dean takes a few steps back away from the door and unsheathes his knife from where it’s stashed in his boot.

With a hard kick the door flies open and Dean is immersed into an onion and fishy smelling darkness. He fumbles around digging into his pockets until he finds his lighter and flips open the top. The dim glow provides enough light to see the man standing in the corner of the room, who is definitely _not_ Sam, but a short, old man in his fifties with a receding hairline and some nasty looking fangs protruding out of his mouth.

“So, you’re a Crocotta, should’ve known that phone call was too good to be true.”

The creature steps forward further into the light, an arrogant smile on his face. “And you’re getting sloppy. You were so eager to see your precious baby brother you couldn’t think about anything else.”

Dean nods, shrugging half-heartedly. “We all have our weaknesses.”

“That brother of yours is going to be the death of you.”

“Yeah, probably,” Dean agrees, moving forward, twirling the knife around in his hand. “But not today.”

He’s thrown into a wall a second later and stars cover his vision, but he counts it as a win because hey he isn’t dead, yet. The man crosses to him, still smiling that grotesque smile. His mouth has got to hurt by now from smiling so much. And what the fuck is in this room that smells so goddamn awful? Did he raid a garbage truck or something? The Crocotta tries to shove him, but Dean gets the upper hand, grabbing the monster’s shoulder, whipping him around. Its arms flail and legs try to fly backwards to kick Dean away. In the half a second he is in control, Dean stabs the creature in the base of his spine and pushes it forward where it flops onto the ground. The corpse spasms for a few moments and then stills. Dean retrieves his knife from its back, wiping the blood off onto the sleeve of his shirt and leaves.

He blinks erratically going out into the sunshine and tosses the knife into the trunk, slamming it shut and tearing out of the parking lot and the small town like a bat out of hell.

The thing is dead and he is certain that’s what was messing with the townspeople. He fucked up today, majorly. Dean let his desire to have Sam with him again mess with his head, so much so he almost lost his life for his mistake. He can’t have that happen again. He’ll just have to be smarter next time.

As he speeds down the highway, heading west for once, a lump settles in his throat. Simultaneously he wants to cry and drive off the road into a ditch and hit Baby with the butt of his gun until she’s covered in dents and glass is scattered in the underbrush. He’s angry at the monster for tricking him, he’s mad at himself for being so blindly needy that he fell for the obvious. He’s mostly angry with how much he needs his brother to even function properly. He can’t work, he can’t even think straight. Hunts occupy his mind for a few days and then he returns to the road. Every passing mile is another mile without Sam, 3,496 miles so far and every one harder than the last. He’s kept track because he’s a sick bastard who takes pleasure in torturing himself with information he cannot change.

All he wants is to have Sam back and that’s the one thing he cannot have.

Dean drags the impala over onto the shoulder twenty minutes out of the state, cursing himself for constantly having to check his phone and sending Sam a text at least once a week. He stopped getting replies about a month ago; he still texts though. It doesn’t matter if Sam replies, sure it’d be nice, but at least he will get the messages. At least he’ll know Dean cares.

_Hey Sammy. I hope you’re doing okay and college is treating you well._

He sends one text off and drives some more. When he stops for dinner in Rochester, Minnesota he sends off another, even though a nagging voice in his brain tells him to stop being a needy little shit.

_Have a good Thanksgiving. Maybe you’ll get to have an actual Thanksgiving dinner this year._

 

 

In Sioux Falls he visits Bobby. He doesn’t really have a destination and he figures that maybe Bobby has heard something about his Dad. Not that he really wants to get back into hunting with his Dad again, but he does care if his father is alive. Over a couple of beers on Bobby’s front porch, his adopted father says that John is in fact alive and in San Francisco for a hunt. Funny, that is, considering John acted like he wanted nothing to do with Sam; he is rather close to where Sam is going to school. It would be just like his Dad to creepily check-up on Sam without his brother knowing.

Then Bobby asks about Sam and everything goes to shit.

“Heard anything from Sam?”

Dean shrugs, staring down at the bottle of beer leaking perspiration onto his hands as if it has the answers to all the world’s great mysteries.

“Not for a month or so.” He tries to act casual about it, but from the slightly pained noise Bobby makes next to him, his façade isn’t very good.

“Are you okay?” Dean sneaks a glance at Bobby. He’s looking at him as if he hadn’t before, eyebrows and forehead crinkled in worry.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. He takes a sip of beer, swallowing thickly. The silence is thick in the air between them and Dean knows that Bobby is waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, Bobby sighs.

“Dean, I know that’s a bunch of bullshit, so cut the crap. How are you really?”

Dean toes at a small pile of dirt on the front step with his boot and rubs his finger in a circle around the top of his beer bottle. “I feel like I’m dying, every single fucking day and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

“Have you tried going to see him?”

“I don’t think he wants me to.”

“You’re almost as stubborn as your Dad. So humor me here, why would Sam not want to see you?”

Dean chuckles, a cold laugh and out of the corner of his eye he sees Bobby lean away from him.  Yeah, he is definitely not telling Bobby the grand “Hey so get this Sam has been in love with me for the past six years” story. That wouldn’t go over well.

“He wants to be normal, Bobby. He wants to have a job, get married, have kids, you know the whole American Dream. And I’m sure as hell not gonna get in the way of that. The kid deserves to be happy after the kind of childhood we had. He wanted out of this life and he damn well deserves to get out.”

Bobby nudges his arm with his and says, “And you don’t?”

Dean shrugs, “I think it’s too late for me and I don’t really want to.”

“But that’s not the problem is it? Even if you did you can’t live without your brother and you don’t know what you’d do.”

Bobby says it so plainly and out in the open it takes Dean’s breath away for a minute and he sits there gaping at him like a fish out of water.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Bobby nods. Dean watches with bated breath as he takes another sip of beer, waiting anxiously.

“Go see him, Dean.” Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Bobby holds up his hand to stop him. “Not right now, maybe in a few months or at the end of his first year if you can stand waiting that long. This is killing you, boy and I hate seeing you like this. I don’t think hiding from your brother is going to help the situation any, but give him some time. Let him be his own person for a while and you do the same. You two grew up in each other’s pockets and as much as you hate being without him, this is something you both need.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bobby.”

“No problem, now finish your beer and I’ll help you find a case.”

Bobby sends him off towards a haunting in Denver an hour later with a full case of beer, a few sandwiches for the road and a better attitude about life than he arrived with. Sure, life is going to hurt like hell until he goes and sees Sam, but for now he’s going to focus on the job as much as he can to help get him through all this. He sends two more texts to Sam before heading onto the highway, a little smile on his face when he hits the green button.

_Sorry for all the texts, but I miss you._

He tosses his phone onto the passenger seat, turns the volume on the radio up to full blast and drives.  


	4. Chapter 4

In March of 2003, a year and three months after Dean visited Bobby in Sioux Falls, his travels bring him to California. There isn’t a hunt and his Dad isn’t there; he’s there to see Sam.

The past year has been hell for him. Sam did start replying again, he sent a few texts, one on Christmas, one on the New Year and one on Dean’s birthday. Always normal, not overly sentimental and so unlike his normal sappy self, Dean wondered what happened to his brother. There seemed to be this kind of rift between them now, and it wasn’t just due to the distance. Dean hates it. He hates not seeing Sam, he hates not having him at his side, he hates a lot of things he has absolutely no reason to hate, but he does. He’s a needy fucker who needs his brother more than air. Even though Bobby thought more time apart would be good, Dean isn’t sure he was right. All the time apart has done made the rift between them and the constant ache in Dean’s heart grow stronger. He can’t take it anymore.

This is how Dean finds himself parked in the parking lot of one of Stanford’s dorm complexes, lost and scared to death of what he will find when he sees his little brother again. He doesn’t even know where Sam lives, Sam never told him. He’ll just have to ask around. Stanford is a large school, but Sam’s always been likable, someone has to know about him, somewhere. Of course, there is always the option of asking Sam where he lives, but Dean doesn’t want to do that. This is supposed to be a surprise, which might be a bad idea on his part in and of itself but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

 All he cares about right now is seeing Sam.

Eventually, once he grows a pair and manages to drag himself out of the car, he heads to the front desk of one of the dorms. He masks his entire outward appearance into a façade of confidence and charm. He knows how to get information out of people, it’s what he does for a living, and this is no different. The woman at the desk is a few years younger than him, probably around Sam’s age. He flashes her his brightest smile and saunters up to the desk, clasping his hands on the wooden surface and leaning forward.

“Hey, I was wondering if you could help me find my brother.”

She looks him up and down, as they all do, blushes just a tad and grins. “Of course, what’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester. Uh, his name might be under Samuel Winchester.”

The girl doesn’t even look through any files or anything, just looks up at him with wide eyes. She’s more interested in him now. “You’re Sam’s brother?”

Dean leans back a little from the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’m his older brother, Dean.”

“Oh my god.” She giggles a little, covering her mouth with her hand and shakes her head.

“What?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. Because okay, this is weird. Is Sam like some sort of stud or something? Wouldn’t be surprising if he was. He’s a smart kid and totally has the floppy haired, puppy dog eyed look going for him. That’s what got Dean in the first place, hell; everyone probably swoons when he walks in the room or something.

“Nothing. It’s just, Sam’s one of the smartest guys here, and he so sweet, kind and gorgeous too. Everyone loves him. You must so proud.” She says, and yep, there’s a wink. She’s trying to get him into her pants. Sorry, no luck, sweetheart, he’s got his eyes on someone else.

But Dean plays along, it’s what he does. “Of course, I taught him everything he knows.”

She giggles again, a sparkle in her eyes. “So, you probably wanna know where he lives right?”

“Yeah I just thought I’d drop-in and surprise him,” Dean replies, with a warm grin.

“That’s _so_ sweet; you’re such a good brother. Uh, he lives in an on-campus apartment complex, Governor’s Corner, it’s two blocks down and around the corner if you go to the right. He’s in room number 282.”

“Thanks sweetheart,” Dean replies with a wink and then he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

“Anytime!” The girl calls after him and he chuckles to himself as he reaches the sidewalk. She was nice, probably had Sam in one of her classes. Probably had a crush on him, too bad his brother only wants him. Well at least Dean hopes Sam still wants him, otherwise this is going to be one awkward visit.

It is early spring and the manicured lawns of Stanford are perfectly cut and perfectly green. Little bunches of daisies and sunflowers are growing in the dirt alongside the sidewalk and Dean has no idea how Sam feels at home here. He feels out of place, too dirty to even be walking on this goddamn sidewalk let alone going to school here. Sam was always crafted of something different then him, always smarter and more driven to do well in school than Dean had been. Apparently he fits in well enough to be a fucking stud that everyone fawns over, he must be doing okay.

Dean’s not sure why he feels jealous, only that the thought of so many people eyeing up his little brother makes him mad.

Okay, that’s bullshit; he knows why he’s jealous, he wants Sam to be his and his alone.

As he approaches Sam’s apartment complex his heart drops into his stomach, beating, beating, and beating, blood soaking into his stomach lining and making him choke. He’s wanted to see Sam for the past two years and now that he is going to, every part of him wants to run away. Sam is going to ask him about the journal, Dean is sure of that; he doesn’t know why Sam wouldn’t. That’s partially why Sam is here in the first place, right? Unless he’s put the entire thing behind him, found a gorgeous girl or guy and completely moved on from being hopelessly in love with his big brother. Dean’s heart prematurely breaks at the thought. He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn’t want Sam to still be in love with him, and he should want Sam to have moved on, to want a healthy relationship with someone who isn’t his sibling.

Dean is selfish and weak, and if there’s one thing he’s learned over the time he’s spent alone is that he doesn’t want to do this without Sam, he cannot live without Sam. He will if he has to, but it hurts like hell and his life doesn’t really have much meaning for him if Sam isn’t involved in some way. He just has to figure out a way to tell Sam all this, since his brother has no fucking idea that Dean is in fact in love with him too. With a lump in his throat and hands shaking in terror, he pauses at the foot of the stairs to the second floor of Governor’s Corner. He can do this. No he can’t.

_This is just Sam, get over yourself Dean._

He inhales and starts up the steps. Sam’s room is the first one around the corner. Dean stops in his tracks in front of the door and very slowly raises his fist and knocks twice in quick succession.

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his toes impatiently. He hears footsteps from the other side of the door and swallows thickly. Oh, god.

The door opens and there he is. Sam looks the same, a little older his hair a little longer, but other than that the same. The only difference is he’s wearing a bright red Stanford sweatshirt and he’s about three inches taller than Dean. Which is totally not okay, Dean is older; he’s supposed to be taller. But whatever, Sam is beautiful and Dean feels like he’s looking into the sun even though Sam’s mouth is hanging open and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Dean?!”

Dean’s lips tip up into a grin, a rush of happiness overwhelming him. “Hey Sammy.”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” He doesn’t look as astonished now, or mad, so that’s good. Sam is grinning too, his dimples just as cute as ever. Dean’s heart speeds up just looking at him.

“Just thought I’d drop in for a few days and see how my little brother is doing in college,” Dean replies, then as an afterthought adds, “Is that okay?”

He doesn’t want to push himself into Sam’s life if he’s not wanted.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, more than okay.”

“Well, then get over here Sasquatch and give me a hug,” Dean says, holding out his arms.

Sam hesitates at first, which is odd, but then Dean gives it a second thought and oh right, Sam is worried Dean won’t want to touch him after the great big secret Sam divulged in his journal. Dean’s grin falls to a gentle smile and he nods a little, so Sam knows it’s okay. Once he does Sam is in his arms in a second, long arms wrapping around him and squeezing him so tight Dean can’t breathe. He relaxes a little after a moment resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, burying his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Dean settles his hands on the Sam’s back and pulls Sam as close to him as he can. With Sam pressed warm against him, arms wrapped around him, Dean feels like he’s finally coming home. His eyes are wet and he’s not crying he’s really not; it’s just allergies.

“I missed you too, Sammy.”

Sam’s fingers clench his jacket, nails digging into his back through the fabric and Dean releases a shaky breath against Sam’s cheek. They should pull away, he should pull away. He doesn’t want to.

Sam pulls away first, eyes a little red, just like Dean is sure his are, but he’s smiling, golden like the sun and Dean wants to kiss him. It’s the first time he’s entertained the thought without feeling awful about it afterwards.

“You wanna come in?” Sam offers, motioning towards the inside of his apartment.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean moves past him, and their shoulders brush. He ignores the tingling that runs down his arm at the contact. What is he a twelve year old girl? His body clearly thinks so. Dean plops down on the couch that’s situated in front of the television, watching Sam. He can’t seem to stop staring. Sam just looks so good, so grown-up. He doesn’t look like a gangly teenager anymore with too long limbs and too skinny for his height. He’s definitely bulked up a bit, probably works out. Basically he’s really hot and Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself so he just stares like the freak he is.

Sam moves around the apartment, moving some papers and school books off the other side of the couch and grabbing two beers for the both of them. He sits next to Dean, like right next to Dean, so close their thighs are pressed together.

“So how are you?” Dean asks, popping off the cap of his beer and taking a long swig.

Dean watches Sam take a drink, regretting that a moment later because the way Sam’s lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle is literally sinful. Fuck.

“I’m good. Just going to school and working.”

“Working?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I work at the bookstore. I’ve always loved books you know and had a thing for organizing them and knowing tons of shit about them so I thought I should apply for a job there and I got it. I really like it.”

“So you go to school and read all day, then go to work and read some more?”

“Yeah?”

Dean’s lip twitches. Only his brother would enjoy having a job at the school bookstore while simultaneously making perfect grades and having to read tons of school books all the time.

“You’re such a fucking nerd.”

Sam rolls his eyes and knocks into Dean’s shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.”

They both start laughing, grinning at each other and for a moment it’s like nothing has changed. It’s like Sam is still hunting with him, they’re still constantly hovering around each other like two planets and Sam still acts like Dean is his hero.

Sam’s laughter dies down and he nudges Dean’s shoulder again, gentler this time. “How are you?” His eyes fixate on Dean’s, serious and honest. There’s a double entendre here and Dean has never had to answer a question so carefully before.

He shrugs, “I’ve been better, but now that I’m here, I’m good.”

Sam nods like he understands, but he doesn’t, not really and now is not the time for Dean to explain his great sob story of being unable to live without Sam constantly at his side.

“How’s Dad?”

Dean freezes with his bottle halfway to his mouth, he takes a sip and darts his eyes away from Sam’s. “I don’t really know.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Are you guys not hunting together?”

Dean shakes his head, still avoiding Sam’s persistent gaze. “No, we haven’t been on a hunt together since you left. We… had a disagreement the day after you left and he… well he kicked me out.”

“Why?!”

“I said you had a right to leave, he didn’t like that so… yeah.”

“Shit, Dean I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It actually is a big deal, but the fact is Sam’s always been the most important person in his life and he wasn’t just going to let his Dad talk shit about his brother when Sam did have a right to leave.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotten used to hunting on my own.”

Sam scowls, “Yeah I’m sure. And how many times did you almost die?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Sam holds up his hand and shakes his head, “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, you probably don’t,” Dean chuckles, taking another sip of beer. He rests his hand on his thigh. Sam’s hand is resting on his own thigh only a few inches away and when Dean accidentally brushes his fingers against Sam’s, his brother stiffen a little next to him. Dean retracts his hand immediately, sliding it down to his knee and focusing on the far window, somewhere other than Sam’s face.

“You wanna go somewhere?” Dean asks.

“Where?”

“I don’t know, where do you wanna go?”

“Can we go for a drive?” Sam asks. His eyes are all wide, twinkling and he’s practically jumping off the couch in excitement.

Dean rolls his eyes and smirks, “Sammy, I’m offering you the world here and you wanna take a drive in the same car you lived in your whole life?”

Sam huffs, his cheeks coloring just a tad, but enough that Dean notices. “I miss it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Dean says, getting up from the couch and leaving his half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “C’mon nerd, I’ll take you for a ride,” he says, reaching over and ruffling Sam’s hair with his hand.

He snickers to himself at the double meaning of his phrase and hopes Sam doesn’t notice. If he does he doesn’t react, only pushes away Dean’s hand and shoots him a glare-y bitch face for fucking with his hair. Fuck, Dean missed Sam’s pissy bitch face.

Sam walks right next to him as they go down the stairs and around the corner towards the impala. Out of the corner of his eye Dean can see his brother watching him, Sam keeps smiling, not a big dopey grin, just one of those tiny secretive ones and starts blushing the moment Dean looks over at him. They pass a few groups of students and Sam greets a few of them with high-fives and it seems like everyone knows him.

“Someone’s a stud,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“What?”

Dean chuckles, patting Sam on the back, “You’re a stud, Sammy. Everyone loves you.”

Sam huffs, amused, and shrugs off Dean’s arm. “No they don’t."

“Yeah? Then how come I had a girl nearly jump my bones when she found out I was your brother.”

Sam stops walking, just dead stops and gapes at Dean. “Wait, really?”

“Uh, yeah. All the girls, boys too, want you. It’s pretty obvious,” Dean throws a wink Sam’s way regretting it the second he does because the admittance he knows Sam likes boys AND girls, reveals that yeah, he totally read Sam’s journal.

Which they still haven’t talked about.

So, he totally might have sorta fucked up while simultaneously slyly alluded to being attracted to his little brother? Huh, could be worse.

He apparently didn’t fuck up _that_ much, since Sam just shakes his head and stares down at his shoes. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Anyway,” Dean starts, tugging Sam around the corner in the direction of the impala. “Where do you wanna go?”

“There’s this really cool diner I’ve heard about in San Francisco, Lori’s Diner, it’s like a fifties diner and all of my friends say they have the best hamburgers ever. I haven’t been there yet and I don’t know maybe, if you wanna we could go there?” Sam offers, shrugging casually like it’s not a big deal, even though Dean can tell just by the tense arch of his shoulders that Sam really does want to go there. Even though he’s probably been to a thousand better diners throughout his entire childhood this place is something familiar; it’s something Dean likes and something that reminds them both of home and being together. And what Sammy wants, Sammy gets. If he wants to take a sentimental journey, Dean is more than happy to oblige.

“Yeah, sure, sounds great. I can always go for a hamburger and pie. They do have pie right?” Dean asks.

Sam laughs one of his glorious laughs that show his teeth and adorable dimples. “Yeah, Dean, they have pie. Really good pie too, apparently.”

“Awesome,” Dean grins.

They round the corner and Sam spots the impala instantly; she kind of sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the ten brand new Hondas and Fords in the parking lot. He looks over at Dean, practically beaming from ear to ear and just runs to the fucking car, running his fingers over her hood, up across the window and rests them in the middle of the car, gazing at her shiny paint.

Dean comes up behind him, resting his hands on the car next to Sam’s.

“Do I need to leave you two alone for a while?” He jokes.

“No, shut up! I just missed her okay? She’s like, you know, home!” Sam sputters, trying to explain.

Dean knocks his shoulder into Sam’s, grinning. “I’m just teasing you. Don’t worry Sammy, Baby missed you too.”

Sam climbs into the passenger seat and Dean slides into the driver’s seat, two puzzle pieces finally coming together. Sam is a little taller now, his legs have to bend at a deeper angle in order for his giraffe legs to fit and his head brushes the top of the ceiling. But despite the change in angle, he fits perfectly and is right where he’s supposed to be.

Dean pushes AC/DC into the cassette player and turns the volume up just shy of full blast and speeds out of the parking lot. He doesn’t miss the joyous laugh Sam let’s out when he chips the corner and Sam has to grab onto the side of the car so he doesn’t topple onto Dean. He keeps looking over at Sam; he can’t keep his eyes on the road. For the past two years being in the impala without Sam has felt empty, there was something missing and the car was too big without him in it. Now that he’s back at Dean’s side, everything is brighter, the car hums different, her engines running better than before, the radio louder, clearer and there’s warmth reverberating within the car Dean wants to wrap himself in so he’ll never be cold again.

 

 

They reach the diner almost an hour later due to traffic, but Dean is so happy he doesn’t even grumble when a dickwad in a red sports car cuts him off or honk his horn. It’s shocking really, how Sam calms him, especially when driving in traffic is one of Dean’s least favorite things. Ah, the things he does for love.

Lori’s is the epitome of the fifties. Dean feels like he stepped back in time and expects everyone to be wearing poodle dog skirts and have bad comb overs. Their waitress is young, and beautiful, probably a college student like Sam and Dean watches her look his brother up and down with an eager smile on her face. Even though Dean has no right to be possessive, he makes a point of wrapping his hand around Sam’s shoulder as she leads them to the table just so she knows he’s off limits. Well, at least for tonight he’s off limits.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” She asks, flashing a fake smile at Dean and a genuine one at Sam, pencil poised in her hands, ready.

“Uh, lemonade?” Sam says.

“Beer for me.”

“Cool, I’ll be right back.”

Dean flips through the menu, settling on the entire page full of different kinds of burgers and his finger automatically lands on the bacon cheeseburger. It’s a classic and his go-to burger no matter what the location. He slams his menu shut and waggles his eyebrows at Sam.

“So college boy, whatcha getting?”

“I haven’t had a burger in two years, Dean. Gimme a sec.”

Whoa, whoa. That means Sam has purposely avoided eating burgers because they remind him of Dean, or of their life or something. Either way he made a purposeful choice and Dean cannot wait to see his brother’s reaction after not eating a burger for two years. This is gonna be great. They are definitely getting pie too.

Their waitress, Kayla, comes back a few minutes later and takes their order. Dean orders two pieces of pie, pecan for both of them with a heavy dosage of ice cream and whip cream. Perfect. Dean’s mouth salivates just at the thought. Pecan isn’t Sam’s favorite pie, not that Sam does have a favorite pie, he’s not really that big on pie or sweets in general, but Dean knows that Sam will like this. He’s probably been so sweet deprived the past two years, living on rabbit food that he’ll have a mouthgasm.

Yeah, for future reference, Dean shouldn’t think of Sam + orgasms in public anymore.

“Tell me about college, and being normal, what’s it like?” Dean asks, changing his thought process, crossing his hands and leaning towards Sam.

“Kind of like high school I guess, just harder? I don’t know. I have a schedule now, it’s weird. I wake up, go to class, do homework, go to work, sometimes hang with friends on the weekend and then sleep. And repeat. It’s not really altogether exciting, not like hunting. I’m not scared for my life every day which is nice. There are a lot of things that are awesome, but then there are some things I just… I just really miss.”

“Like?” Dean says, hoping Sam continues with the three lettered word he so desperately wants him to say.

“You.” There it is and all the breath leaves Dean’s lungs. He clenches his hands together so tightly they start to turn white.

“Just me?” Dean asks. His throat is dry and the words barely manage to leave his mouth.

Sam isn’t looking at him, his face trained down at where his hands are resting on the table and Dean can see the pink of his ears in the glow of the fluorescent lights. He wonders if they’re really going to talk about this right here, right now in public.

“Uh, mostly you. I miss Dad too, but it’s not the same.”

Dean has to force himself not to snort. Of _course_ it’s not the same.

“Yeah, yeah I got it.”

“What about you? How’s hunting?” Sam asks. It’s ridiculous how fast he changes the subject, but Dean doesn’t blame him. Now isn’t the time to talk about Sam’s feelings for him, if they are going to talk about that big mess, they need to do it in private where no judgmental passersby can hear.

“It’s hunting. I don’t know, hunting by myself is weird and dangerous too. I have a few new scars that’s for sure and the amount of hospital trips I’ve taken recently has doubled, but you know it’s the job.”

“God, Dean. Hunting by yourself, you must have a death wish.”

Dean shrugs, because until today he kind of did. He would have rather died while hunting than continue on without Sam.

“Yeah, well, you know me.”

Kayla comes by with their food. She’s given up on flirting with Sam, but in retribution she shoots Dean a dirty glare every time she catches his eye. He tries to pay her no mind. She’s barely a few feet from the table and Dean dives into the burger, taking a huge bite and moans around the greasy, cheesy goodness. Sam watches him, beaming.

“Good?”

“Fucking heaven, Sammy. Try it.” Dean mumbles around a mouthful.

Sam takes a bite, smaller than Dean’s but still larger than a normal human’s and Dean takes great thrill out of the way Sam makes a little whimpering noise when he gets his first taste of the burger.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome; you gotta come here more often.”

“I will.”

They devour the burgers; all talk dissolved into chewing as they eat until the pie gets there. Pecan pie is Dean’s favorite and if he his pie moan is overemphasized for effect, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Maybe that’s because he also has whip cream on the side of his mouth and Sam won’t stop staring at his lips. He licks it off and if Sam’s sharp intake of breath is any indication of the kind of effect it has on him, well then clearly Sam still wants him.

Everything is so out in the open, Sam’s staring at him, pie completely abandoned and it feels like they are on the edge of something that once they go over, they can never come back. Dean suddenly feels sick to his stomach, not because of the pie but because as much as he wants  Sam, he’s still his little brother and there’s something so fucked up about all of this that he can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s one thing to fantasize about Sam and to want him more than he wants anything in the world, but it’s another thing to have to confront this fantasy face to face and have it actually be a possibility. Not that Dean doesn’t want to actually kiss Sam and stuff, he does, he’s just not sure if he’ll be able to forgive himself if he fucks up their entire relationship. He’s the older one, he needs to have the self-control and he’s not sure he has it.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Dean asks, finishing the last bite of his pie. Suddenly it feels like they are sitting in the middle of an oven and if they stay in here any longer their skin will be burnt to a crisp and fall off into tiny little pieces. Sam still has a few bites of his pie left, but he looks done too. Dean wonders if Sam is having the same kinds of thoughts he is.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

The sun is setting as they head out of the city and back towards Stanford. Glowing golden it slips beneath the horizon, cascading the sky into a pastel painting of yellows, oranges and reds.

“So where am I going, Sammy?”

“East, towards the mountains and away from the city, I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Dean nods, cranking up the volume and relaxing back into the seat. They fall into a comfortable silence, both humming along to the music. Sam seems more at ease now that they are in their familiar routine of driving and brotherly companionship. Dean missed this, just driving with him. They’ve done this their entire life, so often that being in the car together is almost as natural as breathing. The further they drive away from the city, the fewer cars there are and the more backroads Sam leads him onto. Dean wonders if Sam sometimes takes drives out here so he can relive memories.

“Turn here,” Sam says, breaking the silence and motioning towards a dirt road bordering a large wheat field.

Dean slows down, careful to not ruin the impala’s undercarriage with flying gravel. They are in California but this part of the countryside looks like the Midwest, Dean knows why Sam brought them out here. It’s beautiful and it’s the closest thing to home.

“Stop, yeah, right here is perfect.”

Dean slows Baby to a park and rolls down the windows. The breeze is light, gentle and ruffles Sam’s floppy hair into his eyes, causing him to push it out of the way with his fingers and slide it behind his ear.

“So?” Dean asks.

“Can we sit on the hood?” Sam asks. His eyes are sparkling in the sunlight, bright green and golden.

“Of course.”

“Please tell me you have beer,” Sam adds.

“Don’t I always?” Dean chuckles.

Dean gets the case of beer out of the back seat and climbs up next to Sam on the hood. He’s sprawled out on the top, lying across the windshield and taking up most of the entire top. Damn, he really has grown. Dean hands him a beer and Sam takes it eagerly, lips twitching. The sky has darkened now, colors mixing into one waving flow of blood orange that stretches out across the horizon in thin veins.

“Dean?” Sam asks, voice small like a little kid’s.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything.”

Dean turns toward him, giving Sam his full attention. A ball of nerves wraps his stomach in knots, tugging and aching inside him as he waits for the inevitable.

Sam stares out at the waving stalks of wheat, gripping the bottle of beer in his hand.

“Did… did you read it?”

Dean barely hears him, Sam asks the question so quietly. He debates reaching into the backseat and proving to Sam that, yeah of course he read it; he carries the goddamn journal with him everywhere and is on his third reading. But he doesn’t, he goes for the simple option instead.

“Every word.” The first time he didn’t, but the next time he read everything; Sam’s words almost gave him comfort. If he couldn’t have Sam, he could have this and this was the next best thing.

Sam gulps and the hand holding his bottle of beer is shaking. “Oh.”

The silence is deafening. Dean focuses on the whistling of the grass in the wind as the stalks rub against one another, but the pounding of his heart and Sam’s quickened breath is too loud.

“Do you hate me?” Sam whispers. He turns to look at Dean then, all sad eyes full of fear and lips tilted into a frown.

“I could never hate you, Sam, c’mon you gotta know that,” Dean says, meeting Sam’s eyes, honest and genuine. It’s the truth, there is nothing in this world that Sam could do that would make Dean hate him.

Of course, Sam being the doubtful little self-loathing kid he is, shakes his head, his shoulders shaking just enough for Dean to pinpoint that he’s holding back tears.

“But this… this is….” Sam sputters, struggling to actually say the words.

Dean wants to reach out and touch him, give him a hug or put a hand on his shoulder. He’s afraid Sam would shy away and that would break his heart, so he doesn’t.

“It’s okay.”

“It is?!”

“Yeah, it’s okay Sammy, I promise.”

“Okay,” Sam nods slowly, sad eyes still present, but his lips aren’t tilted down anymore and he doesn’t look like he’s about to fucking lose it. He takes another chug of beer, swallowing thickly. Dean reaches out and rests a hand on Sam’s shoulder, patting him twice, then drops his hand where it clunks against the hood.

The sun vanishes and stars rise into the sky, blanketing the sky into a sheet of twinkling lights. Sam tosses his empty beer bottle onto the dirt and leans back against the windshield, crossing his arms behind his head and smiling up at the sky. Dean copies him, scooting closer so their shoulders are pressed together and he can feel the warmth of Sam’s body against him. It feels different, with Sam’s big secret out in the open between them, yet at the same time nothing has changed. Sam is still his little brother, still the most important person in his life and they are okay. Dean glances over, watching the moon beams casting rays onto Sam’s face. He’s smiling, at peace, and it takes every nerve in Dean’s body to not move over a few inches, hover himself over Sam and kiss him senseless. He doesn’t but he entertains the thought in his mind over and over again, until Sam nudges him and points out a few of the stars twinkling above them.

Dean grins, barely listening to Sam’s explanation, just staring at the way his lips move when he speaks and the low rumble of his voice and how it reverberates against his chest. This is honestly the most romantic thing he’s ever done and he wants to freeze this moment and live here forever trapped in this perfect world with Sam.

It’s past midnight when they finally climb down from the hood and start the trek back to Stanford. The air in the car is different now. They didn’t actually talk about the elephant in the room but at least the subject was breached and things are okay. Dean can handle okay; he can handle a compromise, at least for now. Sam wants to stay at school and Dean has to keep hunting. Dean can live with that, right? He’s not going to force a life on Sam if that’s not what Sam wants. All Sam needed was the validation that Dean didn’t hate him for having these feelings, now that he has what he wanted, he’ll be able to move on, probably and leave Dean standing in the dust still wanting to know if Sam tastes like the spearmint toothpaste he uses every single morning to brush his teeth.

When they get back to Sam’s apartment, Sam puts him up on the couch, tossing him a few blankets of his own and a couple pillows, before heading into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed. It’s a little odd that he goes into the bathroom to change, since they always changed in front of each other all their lives. Dean supposes that with the new information Sam just gathered, he doesn’t want Dean to be uncomfortable. Dean changes out in the main room, not bothering to brush his teeth or anything, promptly collapsing on the couch. He’s almost asleep when Sam comes back in the room.

“Sleepy?” Sam asks fondness in his voice.

“Mhmmmmm,” Dean murmurs burying his head into the pillow and peeking up at Sam.

Sam pauses a few feet from him, smiling softly down at him. “Night, Dean.”

“Night Sammy.”

 

 

Dean wakes up first the next morning early out of habit. Sam will no doubt sleep for at least another hour; it’s the weekend after all. Dean silently pulls on his jeans and grabs one of Sam’s sweatshirts off of the floor and slips out the door. He comes back thirty minutes later with breakfast from one of the on-campus food places to a frazzled and worried Sam. Dean freezes when he walks through the door, bags of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns in his hands because Sam is standing in the middle of the room, in his boxers, staring at the couch with his hands tangled in his hair.

“Sammy, you okay?”

Sam turns to him, wide-eyed and clearly freaked the fuck out, hands falling from his hair.

“I… I thought you left.”

“All my stuff’s still here, genius. I’m not going anywhere yet.”

Sam glances around, catching sight of Dean’s duffel bag, plaid shirt and leather jacket. “Oh.”

“I bought breakfast?” Dean says, holding up the bags of food with a grin.

Sam smiles back, bright and happy, all traces of worry gone and rushes over, capturing Dean in a bear hug.

“You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah I know, give me a golden medal that says ‘best brother ever’ on it or something,” Dean says, attempting to try and hug whilst holding hot food in his hands. He pulls back and shoves a bag into Sam’s hands. “Here, eat your breakfast.”

Dean drops down onto the couch and Sam falls down next to him, already beginning to devour his meal. He always did eat like a starving bear. Sam finally looks over at Dean halfway through his sandwich and freezes with food in his mouth.

“Why are you wearing my sweatshirt?”

Dean freezes too, realizing that, oh this looks strange. He’s in his jeans and wearing his baby brother’s college sweatshirt like he’s Sam’s overly supportive boyfriend or something. Uh oh.

“I was in a hurry and it was dark?” Dean offers, hopefully, cringing slightly.

Sam shakes his head vigorously, swallowing his mouthful of food. “No, no it’s fine, I just… thought it was cu- funny is all, since you know you aren’t big on the whole college thing.”

Did Sam almost just call him cute? He fucking did. Shit. Dean lets it slide though, ignores the implications and treks on.

“Well, it’s comfy so you know…”

“Keep it,” Sam says.

“What?”

“I have another one, you can have that one,” Sam explains. His lips are curved upwards just enough that there’s a hint of his smile on his face and Dean is worried he’s going to prematurely die from a heart attack.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious, Dean now stop staring at me and eat your fucking sandwich,” Sam grumbles, taking another bite and knocking his bare knee into Dean’s.

Dean rolls his eyes and does as he’s told. Plus the sandwich is really good; Stanford has some damn good breakfast food for being a college. Eventually Sam gets up from the couch and heads into the bathroom to shower. Dean rotates on the couch so he’s sprawled across it and he desperately tries to focus on anything other than what is happening behind the bathroom door. His mind hates him, that’s it; his mind was created just to torture him with thoughts about what his little brother looks like naked underneath the steamy shower. It’s the worst possible form of torture he could imagine, especially when Sam will be out here any moment, half-naked and clad only in a towel, because he didn’t take any clothes into the bathroom with him.

He can picture Sam, with perfect clarity and that’s the problem. Since they lived in such close quarters as kids, there wasn’t much space for them to get off, especially during the horny teen years and so the shower was their only escape. So Dean knows he just fucking knows that Sam still, out of habit, gets himself off whenever he takes a shower. Which is what he’s doing right now most likely.

His head is probably under the hot water, pouring down onto his head, soaking his hair causing it to plaster against his cheeks and forehead. The water is running down his body in rivulets, twirling and cascading down to the ceramic floor. His hand is slowly working his cock, moving up and down in long strokes. A little gasp leaves his lips and his mouth opens, breathing quickly becoming ragged. He’s trying so hard to be quiet so Dean won’t hear him, but can’t help the little whimpers that escape his throat; it just feels so fucking good he can’t stay silent. Then when the sensations are too much, he will come into his fist, hips jerking and hand clasped over his mouth to quiet his moans.

Fuck.

The shower clicks off and Dean scrambles to change his position on the couch to hide his obvious hard-on he totally didn’t get from thinking about Sam getting off in the shower. He settles on lying on his stomach and resting his head on the arm rest, feigning tiredness. This probably won’t work but at least he won’t have to explain anything awkward, hopefully.

The bathroom door opens and Sam comes out in just a towel like Dean expected and yeah he’s definitely bulked up in the past two years because Dean can’t stop staring at his arms, and his abs, and his chest and -

Yep, Sam was put on this earth just to torment him, that’s it.

Sam pauses by his closet, sifting through the hangers until he finds a green t-shirt and much to Dean’s dismay (he’d been intently watching Sam’s back muscles move) throws it on and turns back around.

“You okay? You look like you… saw a ghost or something?”

Dean wasn’t sure his eyes could get any wider, he was wrong. “I’m good. Peachy. Fucking awesome, Sammy.”

“Okaaayyyyy,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow. He turns back around and digs through a few drawers. He pulls out a pair of boxers, and a worn pair of jeans Dean remembers buying him at the Goodwill three years ago, how they still fit him, he will never understand. Dean’s brain short circuits a few seconds later when Sam, out of nowhere decides to just drop his towel and show off his fucking gorgeous ass for .02 seconds before his boxers and jeans are slid on. It takes Dean five minutes to stop thinking about how good of an ass Sam has. Dean does too; it must be in their genes or something.

Haha. Incest jokes, he’s going to hell, twice. No, probably five times if he keeps this up.

“So what do you wanna to do today?” Dean asks, changing the subject to get his mind off something other than how hot his little brother his.

“Why do I have to choose?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I said so,” Dean replies, “And I’m older so you have to listen to me,” he adds, smirking. Oh god, thinking about Sam doing whatever Dean tells him is a bad idea. Not the time, Dean, not the time.

“Fine, then I get to drive,” Sam states, glaring at Dean.

“Oh _hell_ no,” Dean retorts. “You are not touching baby.”

Sam’s eyes flash with mischief. “First one to the car gets to drive, ready, set go!”

He takes off out the door before Dean’s mind has time to catch up and Sam’s feet are already thudding down the stairs by the time Dean is on his feet. Dean books it down the stairs, he can see Sam’s retreating figure twenty feet in front of him, but he’s not gonna make it. Sam is a cheating cheater who cheats, that wasn’t a fair start. Hmph.

When Dean gets to the impala, huffing for air, Sam is standing proudly by the car brandishing a winning smile and his eyes twinkling in that annoying and beautiful way that makes Dean crazy.

“You cheated.”

“Yeah, yeah, gimme the keys,” Sam says, holding out his hand.

“Get ‘em yourself bitch.”

Dean’s keys are in his back pocket; this is going to be fun.

“Fine.”

Sam lunges forward, fingers grasping at Dean’s front pocket and whoa, whoa, his hand is way too close to Dean’s dick. Dean grabs Sam’s arm, pushing him back against the car, and Sam’s back hits the metal with a thud. His hands grab at Dean’s biceps, pushing his arms away, but Dean gets the upper hand, grabbing one of Sam’s wrists and pinning it against the car. Sam’s free hand comes up and playfully decks Dean in the head, it startles Dean for long enough that Sam sneaks his hand into Dean’s back pocket and snatches the keys out of it. If his hand lingers a little too long on Dean’s ass, well Dean isn’t going to complain.

“Gotcha,” Sam says, victorious, dangling the keys in front of Dean’s face, then slipping out from under his arm and pulling open the driver’s side door.

Dean’s too annoyed and turned on to do anything other than slink over to the passenger side door and climb inside, crossing his hands strategically on his lap. He grumbles to himself and shoots a glare at Sam. He hasn’t sat in the passenger seat for over five years. This is weird, he doesn’t like it.

Sam starts the car, and then promptly dissolves into laughter, almost fucking choking he’s laughing so hard.

“What?!” Dean demands.

“You look so angry, it’s adorable.”

“Just drive, Sam oh my god.”

Sam chuckles and shift the impala into reverse and heads out of the parking lot.

Dean relaxes after a few miles once he figures out that Sam isn’t going to crash them and he does actually know where he is going. Dean has no clue where Sam is taking him, but his brother seems giddy, humming along to Led Zeppelin under his breath and a cute little smile on his face. He may not have let Dean drive, but he did let him choose the music, thank God.

Sam keeps driving for over an hour, they are headed north into wine country by the looks of it and the views of the rolling vineyards take Dean’s breath away.

“Sammy, where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere awesome, I promise.”

Dean doesn’t ask any more questions, it’s obvious Sam isn’t going to divulge anything so he’ll just have to sit in curious silence until they get there. Sam turns right onto a small dirt road and now they are headed east towards the mountains. It kind of feels like they are going in circles. They start to climb up into the hills, the road twisting and curving up into the trees. A small alcove is on the right side of the road, a parking lot with two cars parked neatly, Sam pulls the impala next to them and shuts off the engine.

“You might wanna take off the sweatshirt; we have to walk a bit.”

Dean has never been one for nature hikes, he hates it in fact, but this is something that Sam has always loved and the area is beautiful, so what the hell? He shrugs off the sweatshirt and tosses it in the back. Sam climbs out of the front seat and tosses the keys to him over the impala.

“Follow me.”

The hike is worth it.

Not long, otherwise Dean might have died; he’s not used to this. Sure he works out and is in shape, but he doesn’t ever climb up fucking mountains not like Sam. The trail they follow curves up a hillside and then plateaus, the expanse of trees opening up to the entire horizon. Mountains roll off in the distance, their arches peaking above the fog. Dean walks to the edge of the plateau, a sharp cliff face that drops five hundred feet down onto boulders and pointy evergreens. Sam comes up beside him and sits down on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling off the edge. He pats the dirt next to him and Dean follows suit.

“Why here?” is the first thing Dean asks, he’s curious. It’s such a random place, at least to his knowledge and he’s dying to know why it’s important to Sam.

Sam bows his head, shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “My first year here, a few friends and I came up here in the fall, when all the leaves were changing and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I came up here a lot afterward, to think.” He raises his head again, eyes fixating on the horizon. “The first year was hard for me. I didn’t like being without you, but I was too prideful to ask you to come and see me. I couldn’t, not after what I told you, I didn’t deserve to see you, and I didn’t think you’d want to anyway. This was my safe place, I didn’t really have one last year, I still don’t, there’s some stuff you can’t talk about or think around your roommates without them raising questions. A lot of our life is shit regular people wouldn’t understand and I needed an escape, so I found one.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.

“I don’t want you to leave tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t have to.”

Sam turns to look at him with sad eyes. “It’s okay, I know you do.”

Dean shakes his head. He does have to leave, mostly because he knows if he doesn’t he never will. But he’s not in Sam’s life anymore, he doesn’t fit here and even if he wanted to stay, he knows what would happen eventually if he did and he can’t do that to Sam. He can’t drag Sam away from everything he’s ever wanted just to fulfill his own selfish needs. It’s wrong, what he wants is wrong, impossible and it’s better he keeps a safe distance.

“I can come back you know, whenever you need me to.”

“I know.”

Sam rests back on his hands and stares up at the sky, blinking in the brightness. The sun shines down on his cheeks, highlighting his eyelashes and turning his hazel eyes into two golden pools.

“Are you happy?” Dean asks.

“Sometimes,” is the answer Sam gives him. He doesn’t explain, and he doesn’t need to. Dean gets it. Maybe, “sometimes” will be “always” and Dean will just phase out of his life completely. That’s the only way Sam will every truly be happy.

“Are you?” Sam asks, dropping his eyes from the sun and focusing on Dean’s.

“I am right now,” Dean replies.

Sam bites his lip and nods. Dean turns his head away and looks out at the view in front of him. If he could he would stay here forever, right here with Sam. They could use a few packages of beer and some burgers, but other than that, it’s perfect. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to.

 

 

They have dinner at a diner they pass by on the way back to Stanford. Dean drives back, taking the highway and when the sign for “MOE’S DINER – 3.99 BURGERS” appears within sight distance in bright fluorescent lights, Dean automatically steers to the right; it’s just like old times.

The burgers are good, not as good as the ones they had at Lori’s but sufficient for two hungry men after a long day of hiking. Dean’s skin is slightly burnt – on his forehead and cheeks – making it look like he has a permanent blush on his face which is just _friggin' awesome._ The sun of course didn’t affect Sam in the slightest; it isn’t fair.

There’s an atmosphere in the air, something along the lines of dread and melancholy. Dean wants to know so much more about Sam, about his great life without Dean. He also desperately wants to talk about Sam’s journal, they barely brushed the subject and Dean needs to know if Sam still feels the way he did two years ago. It doesn’t seem like he does, but Dean still has a tiny shred of hope engraved into his heart that will probably never go away.

“So, do you have a girlfriend?” Dean asks, out of the blue and Sam almost chokes on his burger. It’s not his best ice breaker, but it’s definitely effective.

“Uh... No?” Sam is purposefully avoiding his gaze, staring down at the tiny bubbles floating around in his glass of Pepsi.

“Boyfriend?” Dean tries, mentally crossing his fingers and toes that Sam says no.

Instead, he laughs. “Yeah, no.”

Dean can’t help it, he has to know. “Anyone you’re interested in?”

Sam looks up then, eyes hard, nearly glaring at Dean. “Why do you care?”

“I… don’t? I just want you to find someone who will make you happy, Sammy, that’s all,” Dean replies, defensively, and instantly knows it’s the wrong thing to say when Sam’s face falls and he takes an overly aggressive bite of burger.

“Well, thanks. But no, for your information, there’s no one.”

Dean knows when to drop a conversation and he drops it faster than a bunch of hot coals. Plus he has all the information he needs.

The rest of dinner goes well, they keep to small talk – reminiscing about memories, Dean retells his recent hunt stories and Sam tells stories about college. It’s easy, deep enough to leave an impression, but nothing they actually should be talking about gets talked about. With every passing second Dean dreads leaving and not telling Sam the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t plan on coming back, just with the life that he lives, he could be dead next week and this could be the last time he ever sees his brother.

Fuck. He needs to stop thinking about shit like this.

When they get back to Sam’s apartment, Dean collapses onto the couch still fully clothed and wraps the blanket around him, pulling it all the way up to his chin. Sam wanders around the room, getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth. Dean notices his usual routine hasn’t changed: pajamas, teeth, face, bathroom, sleep. Watching him is almost therapeutic and by the time Sam switches off the light, Dean’s eyelids are heavy and he can feel sleep creeping up on him.

Sam’s bed creaks when he lays down and gets settled, the covers shuffle and without looking Dean can tell he turns onto his right side, then his left side and curls around his pillow, palms pressed flat against the mattress. Dean has the weightless almost asleep feeling going on when Sam’s voice breaks through and almost startles him off the couch.

“Dean?”

“Hmmmmpphh?”

“G’night.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Oh Sammy and his incessant need to always say good night before he falls asleep.

“Night Sammy.”

Dean closes his eyes again, body relaxing into the cushions. He’s ready to pass out at any second, but sleep doesn’t come because Sam doesn’t know how to shut up.

“I love you,” Sam whispers in the darkness.

Never mind, Sam shouldn’t shut up, ever.

Those three precious words float heavy in the silence that follows and Dean sucks in a deep breathe, taking the words with him and locking them inside his lungs.

“I love you too.” He never says this, he can count on his hands the number of people he remembers saying I love you to: one. Sam.

Sam releases a breath, shuffles a little in his bed and then silence, the good kind and Dean finally drifts off to sleep.

 

 

Dean wakes up early, just like yesterday, but this time he doesn’t leave. He will go out and get Sam breakfast, just not until after Sam is awake. Giving his brother a heart attack two days in a row isn’t nice, plus Dean has a selfish desire to watch Sam wake up, so it’s a win-win situation for everyone.

He lies on the couch and waits, staring at the ceiling, and at the pictures Sam has on the walls. Sam has kept his decorating to a minimum, only a few artsy pictures of the ocean, plains, band posters and some weird ass hippy tapestry hanging against the far wall. Tapestry, his brother owns a tapestry. How are they even related?

It’s cold inside Sam’s apartment, and despite the sunlight streaming in through the slightly open window, a chill runs down his spine and he buries himself underneath the blanket as much as he possibly can.

When Sam wakes up, his fingers stir first, clenching and unclenching delicately in on themselves, curling around the pillowcase. He nestles his nose into the pillow, snorting quietly a little smile gracing his face and then he releases a heavy sigh. One of his legs falls out from underneath the covers, kicking against the mattress. His eyelashes flutter and then his eyelids slowly open, blinking blearily at the sunlight.

So fucking adorable.

“Mornin’” Dean says from across the room, grinning.

Sam rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and yawns widely, “Morning.”

“You want anything special for breakfast?” Dean asks.

Sam yawns again, sitting up in bed and rotating his body until his feet touch the floor. “Bacon, something with bacon, I don’t care what.”

“Bacon it is.” Dean gets up off the couch and pads around the room until he finds his shoes. “Go back to bed, sleeping beauty,” He shoots Sam a smile over his shoulder, and then slips out the door.

When he returns a half hour later, sausage and bacon breakfast sandwiches in tow, Sam is not sleeping, but perched at his desk poured over a book. Dean closes the door gently and places Sam’s sandwich next to him and settles back on the couch. Sam looks up, smiling gratefully and grabs his sandwich, closing his book and moving to sit next to Dean. The both eat slowly, delaying the inevitable. Dean is pretty sure he’s never taken twenty minutes to eat a breakfast sandwich before, but he savors every bite. In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, he tosses his wrapper into the garbage can from across the room and grins triumphantly when he makes it in. Sam laughs at him, and Dean basks in the sound, treasuring it like he might never hear it again. His heart is rising into his throat, pulse thumping at an erratic pace and he just keeps staring at Sam, watching him eat and wondering if it would be a total dick move to kiss him right now.

Sam tosses his wrapper and the bag into the garbage can and makes both, smirking at Dean.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem.”

Dean stares at Sam’s tapestry, counting the stitching lines one by one.

“You should probably get going if you want to make it to Arizona by tonight,” Sam states plainly. Yesterday, while reading the paper, Dean had found a hunt in Phoenix, he didn’t have to go, he could call someone else and they could take the hunt. But tomorrow is Monday and Sam has class, work and his new life to go back to and without saying it they both know Dean doesn’t fit right in this new life, he never could, no matter how much he desperately wants to.

“Yeah.”

He can’t say anything else. If he swallows he will choke on his heart and die. He should stand up and walk to the door, but his legs feel like leaden weights, and he cannot lift them, so he just stays, staring at Sam’s walls and trying to remember how to breathe.

Sam gets up first, slowly, but still, first and Dean has no choice but to follow, duffle bag in tow. This isn’t his house, he can’t stay here forever. Part of him is thankful that Sam moved first, Dean’s not sure he would have been able to.

Sam opens the door and Dean takes the lead, blindly heading down the stairs towards the parking lot. The impala waits, glistening in the morning sun and her glare is so bright Dean has to shield his eyes. Sam leans up against the car, alternating between looking at his feet and at Dean. Dean can only look at Sam and hates himself with every fiber of his being for what he’s about to do.

“Let me know when you have a weekend free and I’ll try to drop-in, if that’s okay,” Dean says.

Sam nods, scuffing his shoes idly against the sidewalk and running his teeth over his bottom lip. “I’ll let you know.”

“Hang in there and make me proud, I know you will, you always do.”

Sam smiles just the hint of a smile, eyes wide and happy, “Really? I do?”

“Duh,” Dean replies with an obnoxious eye roll that throws them both into a fit of laughter.

“I’m gonna miss you so fucking much,” Sam says, after their laughter has fallen away.

“I know me too.”

Sam grabs him by his shoulders and pulls him into a hug, burying his face into Dean’s jacket and making sniffling noises that sound an awful lot like crying. God, he better not be crying, if he cries that means Dean is gonna cry and Dean doesn’t cry, at least not in public.

They pull apart, barely, but Dean’s hand lingers where it rests on Sam’s waist, fingers curling around the fabric of Sam’s t-shirt. At this proximity Dean can see the flecks of gold and green in Sam’s eyes and he hopes that he’ll get to see them this close some other time.

“Dean?” Sam asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. It’s now or never.

In one fluid motion, Dean moves, pressing his lips against Sam’s. He’s hesitant at first, but when Sam doesn’t punch him or push him away, he presses more firmly. Sam’s lips are soft, barely parted but just enough and this is better than any fantasy Dean could have ever dreamed up. Except for the fact that Sam isn’t kissing back. At all. He’s just standing there and letting it happen. This is not okay.

Dean jolts away, staggering backwards. Sam is supposed to kiss back and he’s fucking not, so _clearly_ Dean is way off here and Sam doesn’t love him like that anymore.

“I’m sorry, fuck Sammy, I- I shouldn’t have done that, shit, I’m just… I’ll just go,” He scrambles to open the car door and get inside and drive away as fast and as far as possible.

Sam grabs his arm, tight, stopping him. “No! Dean, wait!”

Dean shakes his arm off and pushes his way into the car, starting the engine as tears prick behind his eyes.

“I fucked up, Sam I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Dean!” Sam yells as he speeds away.

Dean holds back a sob, he just lost his brother; he just lost everything. He watches Sam in his rearview mirror until Sam fades to a speck in the distance. Dean blasts the radio, enters the highway and drives until he runs out of tears and gas.


	5. Chapter 5

AC/DC leads him into the flat desert coming out of California and into Nevada. Tumbleweeds roll alongside the road, jumping and spinning, throwing up small cyclones of sand in their wake. He’s one of a few cars on the road this morning and speeds past all of them, pushing ninety, honestly not caring if he crashes into the brush and dies. At least then he wouldn’t be alive to remember what a fucking idiot he is.

His phone has rung probably twenty times since he left Stanford four hours ago and he’s ignored every single call, turning up the music to drown out Rock You Like a Hurricane. Why the fuck does Sam keep calling him anyway? What does he want? Dean knows he fucked up; he doesn’t need Sam yelling at him and telling him to never see him again. He got that message loud and clear. Dean’s stomach growls in earnest, knotting in his stomach and yelling at him to go get something to eat. He’s not stopping though, not until he gets to Phoenix, not until he’s at least two states away from Sam and all of his mistakes.

Because that’s what Dean does, he runs away from his shit.

He pulls into Phoenix just as the sun goes down, grumpy, hungry and tired as fuck. Right off the highway there is a Super 8; Dean has never been so happy to see a vacancy sign in his life.

“I’d like a single room if you have one,” Dean asks, slapping one of his credit cards onto the desk. He’s barely keeping his eyes open, if he wasn’t so tired he would drive to a bar, get drunk and then sleep, but he doesn’t have the energy.

“Of course,” The manager says with a heavily fake smile. He’s a middle-aged man with slightly greying hair, the usual owner of all the Super 8’s in the country and he has a brisk green name tag pinned onto the front of his polo shirt bearing his name: David. He rifles through a few folders until he finds a room key, looking up finally and handing it to Dean. David pauses his hand held out, face falling into a mask of worry.

“Sir, are you alright?” He asks.

Dean sighs, snatching the room key out of David’s hand and waving him off, “Yeah, I’m great.”

He heaves his duffle onto his shoulder, grabs his credit card and without another word heads down the hallway to his room. The last thing he needs is snoopy hotel owners asking him questions. Yeah, he looks like shit, but he just lost the most important person in his life, he’s entitled to look as shitty as he wants.

Dean tosses his bag onto the bed and strolls into the bathroom, already chucking off his clothes on the way to the shower. While the water warms up, hissing and steaming behind him, he stares at his face in the mirror. His skin is pale, eyes haggard; he looks like the combination of a stoner and an insomniac. It’s not pretty. With a shaky sigh, he turns away from his reflection and steps into the shower, closing his eyes and letting the hot spray make him forget everything for a couple of minutes.

By the time he gets out of the shower, finishes getting ready for bed and flops onto the mattress, he’s out in two minutes flat.

As he drives through New Mexico the following morning, the impala rumbling beneath him, Dean is haunted by the softness of Sam’s lips on his, their warmth and how good it felt to finally kiss him. His stomach twists painfully, he feels sick. Dean shouldn’t still want him, not after Sam’s obvious rejection, but now that he’s kissed him once, now that he passed that line, he wants to do it again. Kissing Sam felt right, not wrong at all, even though it should feel wrong. Despite the fact that Sam didn’t kiss him back, that kiss was one of the best Dean’s ever had.

He loves kissing, he always has but before it was always a means of foreplay, a way to get a girl or guy into bed with him. This wasn’t that, not in the slightest. He kissed Sam purely because he wanted to, not because he had some ulterior motive. He needed to and now that he has, he wishes he could go back and un-kiss him. If he hadn’t kissed him, he wouldn’t be feeling like utter shit.

He needs a drink, or ten.

Farmington, New Mexico has five bars, he chooses one at random and goes in, order two shots of whiskey right off the bat and downs them in less than a minute. His head barely spins from those, so he orders two more, sighing happily when those at least make him a little dizzy. The bartender eyes him warily, leaning across the bar to refill his glasses.

 “You alright, man?” He asks.

Dean looks up at him with blurry eyes and smiles smugly, “I’m awesome.”

The man huffs a laugh. He picks up a towel from underneath the counter and starts to wipe off the top. “What’s your name?”

“Dean, yours?”

“Joe.”

Joe gives him a warm smile. He’s attractive and he totally owns the shaggy-haired look. Dean isn’t sure if Joe is into guys, he’ll test the waters and find out, but if he is, Dean might have to take him back to his room.

Dean throws back another shot and cringes at the fire that slides down his throat. He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, flashing Joe a flirtatious smile.

“So how long you worked here?”

“A few years,” Joe answers, handing Dean a beer instead of a shot. “What are you in town for?”

“Just passing through on my way to Houston, thought I’d stop in and have a few before I have to leave in the morning.”

If this was a case, Dean would consider this oversharing, but since it’s a lie and he’s never going to see Joe again after tonight, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t really care about anything right now, at least not anything other than drinking until his heart stops aching or Joe fucks it out of him. He’s hoping for the later, less chance of alcohol poisoning that way.

Joe tosses the rag back below the counter and leans towards Dean, crossing his hands in front of him and smiling slightly. “You got any plans for the evening?”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, “Does it look like I got any plans?”

“No, would you like to?” Joe offers. His lips quirk up to one side in an adorable little smirk, showing his dimples and he reaches out, brushing his fingers across the top of Dean’s hand. Well, fuck he didn’t have to try that hard.

Instead of answering his question, Dean asks another of his own. “What time do you get off?”

“My shift ends at eleven. That okay?”

"Perfect,” Dean grins. “You wanna meet me at my motel room?”

“Sure, where are you staying?”

Shit. Dean’s head is spinning, just a little, enough that his equilibrium is off and he can’t think straight. “I can’t remember the name right now, but it’s the motel a block down and around the corner.”

“Bluebird?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that one! Room 34.”

“Awesome, I’ll be there around eleven-thirty.”

Dean slides off the bar stool, slapping a twenty onto the counter with a wink. “Can’t wait.”

He straightens his back as he walks out, trying to appear as sober as possible. He’s not horribly drunk, just tipsy, but he’s glad he got a close motel, that’s for damn sure.

Once inside his room he sprawls out on the bed to watch television while he waits. Halfway through the ten o’clock news his phone starts ringing. Dean digs the phone out of his pocket and squints at the name. Sam, of course. He tosses it across the mattress in frustration and waits for it to stop ringing. It dings twice, loud and annoying, indicating a voicemail. Fuck. Sam hasn’t left a voicemail before, he must be getting desperate.

A little voice inside his head tells him that maybe he shouldn’t listen to this right now, not if he wants to get laid, but the little voice is overpowered by a much bigger and more curious voice that desperately needs to hear his little brother’s voice again. Dean groans and flips open his phone, flipping through the menu until he finds his voicemail. With shaking fingers, he presses the green button and listens.

“Hey Dean. Uhm… I don’t know where you are, probably in Arizona that’s where you were headed, but I really wish you’d talk to me. I’ve called you like twenty times, or more and you’re probably fucking sick of me by now, but I need to talk to you and I don’t wanna do this over voicemail. I have no clue what you’re assuming I’m thinking right now, probably something awful like I’m gonna hate you forever, but that’s not true. Like at all. So, I just really wish you’d call me back so we can talk about this. Please Dean. I know you’re eating yourself up over this and I wish you wouldn’t, especially since you know my side. C’mon man, please. You’re all I’ve got and I’m not gonna lose you, not because of this. Call me back, okay? Love you. Bye.”

Dean sighs, slamming his phone shut and half-heartedly throwing it across the room where it lands on the carpet with a quiet thud. He stares at it from across the room, contemplating going to retrieve it and actually calling Sam back. He should, he really should, and maybe he was wrong about why Sam pulled away? Why else would Sam pull away? Sam’s explanation might make him feel better, it might make things better, or it could make him want to drive the impala off a cliff. There are only two options here and either way, he’s going to have to be separated from Sam.

If Dean was right about why Sam pulled away, he doesn’t think he will be able to get through Sam actually telling that to him. He really would die then. It wouldn’t be the rejection of Sam not wanting him, because Sam telling him that he no longer loves Dean more than a brother wouldn’t be the worst possible thing. It would be that Sam wouldn’t want to be around him anymore. That’s all Dean cares about; he just wants Sam in whatever way he can.

Basically, he’s fucked.

Dean rolls over and swings his feet off the bed, grabbing his keys and heading out to the impala. He flings open the trunk and grabs the fifth of whiskey he has hidden underneath all the weapons and cracks open the seal. He takes a swig on his way back through the motel room door, slamming the door behind him and flopping down onto the bed. Placing the whiskey beside him, he leans over, digging through his duffel until he finds Sam’s journal. He rests it on his lap and flips through the pages.

_July 4, 1996_

He reads, drinks, re-reads and drinks some more.

Dean wakes up an hour and a half later to a loud knocking on the motel room door. He blinks blearily, rubbing his eyes and is halfway up to go answer, when he freezes, sitting on the bed remembering. That’s Joe, the bartender who he’s supposed to have sex with right now. Shit. Dean flashes what he can remember of Joe’s face: cute little dimples, long brown hair, a couple of inches taller than Dean. Oh fuck no.

He runs like a scared little puppy into the bathroom, silently shutting the door and sitting on the closed toilet seat in the dark. He scrubs his hand across his face, and waits for the knocking to stop. Eventually Joe will give up, think Dean stood him up or something or told him the wrong room number. It’s easier this way. Why the fuck did he think having sex right now would be a good idea? Especially when his mind is on the Sam-track and only seems to want people who have a strong resemblance to his brother.

God, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Five minutes later, after Joe yells his name a couple of times, the knocking stops and Dean peeks his head out of the bathroom door. He’s such a coward it’s laughable that he manages to kill monsters as his job. When he’s sure the coast is clear and Joe isn’t still there, he sneaks out and walks over to the door, opening it and sticking his head out. The parking lot is vacant except for a few other cars and the impala; no Joe. Dean breathes a sigh of relief and slips back inside. It’s almost midnight and he wants to get out of this town and keep heading east until he finds another hunt or another bar, something else to occupy his mind other than the constant thread of “Sam.”

His bed is inviting and he climbs back into it. He takes another swig of whiskey before he lays down, curling in on himself and trapping the amulet around his neck tight in his fist.

 

 

Courtesy of Bobby, Dean finds a hunt a few miles outside of Memphis. A woman’s husband had been killed, his body torn to shreds by a dog. Obviously it wasn’t a dog, Dean could tell that just by the coroner’s report. Werewolves weren’t easy to kill, but it wasn’t the worst possible thing to hunt. Good thing he had a large stock of silver bullets in the trunk, he was going to need them.

The first thing Dean did, as per protocol was to interview the woman and her niece who lives with the family.

Their house was one of those old Victorian houses that just scream “GHOSTS LIVE HERE,” or werewolves, either way something supernatural. To a non-hunter these kinds of houses seem idyllic, an antique that needs to be preserved. Dean wants to set them all on fire. Almost every single time he’s worked a case and there has been a house involved, it has been one of these and he’s grown to avoid them at all costs.

The niece answers the door. She’s young, around his age with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dean gives her a small smile and starts his spiel.

“I’m Dean Smith and I called earlier asking if it was alright if I could interview you and your aunt in regards to the death of your uncle.”

“Oh! Yes, of course please come in,” She offers, extending her hand and welcoming Dean in. He steps inside and she holds out her hand. “I’m Sam; it’s nice to meet you.”

Dean is in the process of taking her hand to shake it when she says her name and he almost drops it in surprise. “Your name is Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s short for Samantha, but I like Sam better,” She says with a cheeky grin.

Dean’s heart twists around in his chest. He always used to call Sam, Samantha as a joke, because Sam hated when Dean fucked around with his name. He liked to be called Sam and only Sam, but for some reason he let Dean call him Sammy, not Dad only Dean.

“Awesome,” Dean says with a forced smile as Sam leads him presumably towards the living room. She stops just around the corner, placing a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“My aunt is still very torn up about all this; after all it only happened a week ago, so go easy on her, okay?” She whispers, looking up at him.

She’s really close, her lips a few inches away from his ear and her hair smells like lavender. Sam is really pretty, like really _really_ pretty and it’s been awhile since he’s actually been with anyone. He’s drawn to her and it’s more than just the similarity of her name with his Sam’s. That’s part of it to be sure and he’s not going to lie to himself about that fact. He shouldn’t do anything though, not when the similarity is there and his brain is already trying to convince him that this is a good idea when it’s not.

Dean gulps, reorganizing his thoughts back to the case and he nods, “Of course.”

Sam leads him into the living room where her aunt is sitting on the couch, a box of tissues in front of her. She looks up as he walks in, eyes rimmed-red and a frown on her face.

“This is Dean Smith, he talked to you on the phone earlier,” Sam explains, sitting next to her aunt and gently taking her hand.

“Oh yes, I remember, you’re from animal protection services.”

“That’s right, ma’am, we want to find the animal that did this to your husband so if you could tell me everything you know that would be great.”

Dean sits adjacent to her in a large love seat; professionally crossing his hands on his lap and leaning back to listen.

“He went out for a jog after dinner. Terry always went for runs in the evenings, it was cathartic for him and he enjoyed watching the sunset. Last week he left as usual but never came back,” She sniffles, reaching for a tissue and wiping her eyes. “The police told us a large dog attacked him, a wild one no doubt. Though, the bites were odd, larger than a regular dog even more so than the largest breed. It was odd they said, especially when they found his body was scraped up with claws too. They have no clue what did it.”

“I’ll look into it, Mrs. Hunt and see what I can find, alright?” Dean assures her. “Is there any more information you can give me?”

She blows her nose and Samantha pats her hand sympathetically, fighting back tears herself.

“What about what Uncle Terry said he saw a few days before?” Samantha suggests.

“Oh right, when he went for a jog on the weekend, he thought he saw a dog, almost like a supernatural kind of dog, but that’s not possible, those don’t exist.” Mrs. Hunt says, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the idea.

“Like a werewolf?” Dean asks, casually. He’s pretty sure that’s what this thing is, but it could be a black dog, or a hellhound or some other variation of supernatural dog.

“Yes, exactly, that’s how he described it. He told me he was seeing things.”

Dean nods, “Well, thank you, I think that’s all I need. I’ll see what I can do about this animal and make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Mrs. Hunt says, reaching over and patting his hand.

“Of course.”

He waves goodbye to Mrs. Hunt and Samantha walks him back to the door.

“I want to come with you,” she says, clinging to his bicep and stopping him from leaving.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?” She asks, narrowing her eyes at him. “This thing killed my Uncle and I want to help you kill it.”

Dean sighs heavily; he hates this part of the job, telling people that there are other things out there that are scarier than anything one could think of in any horror movie. Samantha catches onto his sigh, and drops her hand from his shoulder, taking a step away.

“It really is a werewolf isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Dean says, and it comes across more bluntly than he intends. “That’s why you can’t come, these things, they’re ugly and kill dirty, I don’t want you to get caught up in that.”

Samantha glances down at the ground, nodding slowly in understanding. “I get it, I do, but I still wanna come. Please?” Her eyes are wide, begging with Dean to say yes. He shouldn’t say yes, he really shouldn’t, she’s a civilian and the first rule of hunting is to not bring civilians on the hunt.  Except, Dean is pretty sure even if he says no, that Samantha will find a way to go with him no matter what. She’s determined this one and stubborn.

_Just like Sam._

Shut up, brain.

“Fine, I’ll pick you up at six,” Dean says. Samantha grins excitedly and he points a finger at her, “But if things start to go sideways, you get out of there and let me handle this deal?”

She grabs his hand and shakes it, “Deal.”

After a quick dinner at the local diner, Dean returns to Samantha’s house, finding her waiting impatiently on the porch. She’s dressed like she’s going on a hike; backpack slung around her shoulders, wearing a pair of tan shorts, a tank top and hiking boots. Dean pulls up to the curb and waves at her to get in the car. She jumps off the porch and gets into the passenger seat, setting her backpack in between her knees.

“Cool car!” She says, eyes scanning around the impala taking in every detail.

“Thanks. You’re excited,” Dean remarks, smirking at her.

“Yeah, well I’ve never done this before, it’s exciting,” Samantha says with a quirk of her lips, “And I’m also scared out of my mind so my adrenaline is pretty high too,” She adds.

Dean chuckles, watching her, she looks comfortable in the car, in the passenger seat and it does something uncomfortable to Dean’s insides. He doesn’t like this. It’s Sam but not, Sam. She’s not the right Sam.

This is starting to confuse him.

“So you ready?” He asks, revving the engine.

“Ready freddy!” She grins.

Dean rolls his eyes and speeds off down the street, “Don’t ever say that again.”

The park where Samantha’s uncle died is relatively deserted for this time of the evening so Dean doesn’t feel too bad sliding his gun chock full of silver bullets into the back of his jeans. He hands Sam one too, making her promise not to use it until he tells her to. This could go bad really fast if she doesn’t listen to him. But so far she has, listened super intently too, which is weird, considering usually people don’t want to learn about this shit. She seems eager and considering the circumstances, Dean supposes that’s a good thing.

They begin their trek down the trail, retracing Terry’s steps along the clean-cut dirt trail through the forest. Dean’s senses are alive and he twitches at every small movement in the brush or rustle of the leaves in the trees. On hunts like this, in the woods, he’s like a predator, stalking his prey. At his side, Samantha keeps in time with him, a little bounce in her step. Her eyes are wandering around the forest, searching for the werewolf like it’s just going to appear out of nowhere, popping out from behind the bushes. Pfft, amateur. They reach the tree-line where the trail curves to the right, going deeper into the forest. Up ahead, due to the expansive tree cover the light is thinner and darkness seeps in. Great, this is gonna be fun.

Within five minutes of walking through the darker area of the forest, a loud rustling erupts from behind Dean to the right. He freezes, reaching out and grabbing Samantha’s arm to stop her. She freezes next to him, grappling for his arm.

“Is that it?” She whispers.

“Shhhhh,” Dean whispers back, eyes darting around the area, focusing on the area where he heard the rustling.

The werewolf comes out of nowhere, jumping Dean from behind, its claws digging into his back. He yells, rolling over and over on top of the animal, trying to push it off. Samantha is standing off to the side, her gun out and pointed at the wolf, but Dean is too close for her to shoot and not accidentally hit him. He twists onto his back punching his legs into the air and kicking the animal off of him. Without being prompted, Samantha shoots as soon as it’s far enough away from Dean and the animal crumples to the ground, screeching and clawing at the dirt until it collapses, dead with a thud. Dean scrambles to his feet, dusting off his jeans and going over to Samantha who is standing, gun in hand, shaking, but smiling like she just won the lottery.

“I did it!” She says, staring at the gun in her hands in shock. Samantha notices the tears and red stains on Dean’s shirt and drops her gun, brushing her fingers around the injured area. ”Oh my god, are you okay?”

Dean sucks in a breath. The scratches hurt like a motherfucker, but it’s not the worst injury he’s ever had. “I’m okay, nothing a little alcohol and bandages can’t fix.”

“Can I help you? Are you gonna be able to make it back to the car?” Samantha asks, hovering around him like a little bee searching for honey.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine, you can help me, but not yet, not until we get back to my hotel with the first aid kit.”

“Okay, gotcha. Do you want me to drive?”

Dean shoots her a glare so cold it could freeze the Sahara Desert. “No, you’re not touching my car, got it?”

“Got it.”

They get back to the impala and the motel with ease, and in Dean’s case, little pain. Actually, that’s not completely true, his back aches something awful, but now that he’s back in comfort with copious amounts of alcohol, the pain is slowly dwindling. Samantha is sitting next to him on the bed, opening up the first aid kit and searching for the bandages.

“What do you need me to do?” She asks, looking over at him.

Dean carefully pulls off his shirt, tossing it into the garbage can near the bathroom door. He reaches back, feeling for the scratches and cringing when his fingers brush over them.

“They aren’t too deep to need stitches so, just pour some of this whiskey on them, rub in some ointment and stick the bandage on.”

“I can do that. Turn a little bit though, okay?” She says. There’s a crackling of the bandage package being opened and then her warm fingers brush over his shoulder. Dean rotates his torso so she can work easier. He hands her the bottle and flinches when the alcohol sears his wounds, shooting pain down the nerves in his back. The bed dips as Samantha gets up and grabs one of the towels off the shower hanger dabs the cuts clean. Dean takes in a deep breath, bracing for the pain that starts when she starts to rub in the ointment. It has to be done, so he just closes his eyes and suffers through the pain.

“Almost done,” she assures him, sliding a gentle hand across the expanse of his back as a comforting gesture.

It sends a shiver down his spine at being touched so gently and he wants her to do it again.

“Hey Sam?” He asks, annoyed at himself how his pulse increases just saying her name.

“Hmm?”

“Make sure the bandage is on tight, okay? Don’t want it to slip off, it’s gotta stay on.”

“I will.”

Samantha breathes out, warm against his skin, and slides her fingers off of him to grab the bandage. She presses it against the wound, holding her hand in place and then taping off the edges so it stays in place. Her hands smooth down his arms and off.

“All patched up.”

Dean turns until he’s facing her, “Thanks,” he says with a gentle smile.

She blushes just a little, and slips a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “How does it feel?”

“Good. You did good,” Dean says, reaching over and patting her hand.

She grabs his fingers, tangling them within hers and stares down at her feet, too shy to look up.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

She shrugs, her shy smile growing more confident now. “I like you.”

Shit. All the brakes on the “Dean is going to maybe get laid train” screech to a halt. She likes him of course she does, he knew that from the moment he walked into her house and yet he still walked right into this trap. He likes her, he does, and she’s cute, smart and gorgeous. He’s only here for tonight and he’d like to spend it with her, but he shouldn’t he really shouldn’t.

“Yeah, I like you too, Sam.”

He gives her a little encouraging smile, squeezing her fingers. Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed the entire time, this won’t be so difficult. It doesn’t matter that the last person he kissed was Sam, _his_ Sam, he can have sex with her without thinking about his brother it’s totally fine! His hand finds her cheek and he leans in and captures her lips in his, easy and slow. She yields to him, melting against his lips and she turns, hands sliding up to his shoulders, carefully avoiding his new injury. Her hands roam down his bare back, sliding across his sides and up his chest. She pulls away briefly, eyes wide and dilated, her hands are still on his chest and a low thrum of arousal is slowly making its way throughout his body.

“So do you wanna just kiss or are you going to fuck me?” She asks, arms gliding around his neck so she can toy with the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Dean blinks at her, surprised by her blatant question; it takes a minute for his brain to catch up with what she actually just said. His hand moves from her cheek, sliding down to her waist and he licks his lips, painting a coy smile on his face. “Well, yeah if that’s what you want.”

“Hell yeah,” She whispers, grinning. Before he has a chance to say anything else, she surges forward and kisses him deeply, hands sliding further into his hair. She licks open his mouth and climbs onto his lap, straddling his waist, slowly starting to rock her hips against his growing erection. Dean gasps into her mouth, hands tightening where they rest on her waist, holding her steady as she rocks against him. His hands slip underneath her tank top, grabbing the seam at the bottom and pulling it off of her in one fluid motion. He throws it across the room and grabs onto her bare waist. His lips lift off of hers and move to her neck, nipping and sucking marks onto it. Sam clings to his shoulders, a breathy moan leaving her mouth.

“Dean, oh my god,” She whispers, throwing her head back to give him more access to the long line of her neck. One of his hands slides up her back and unclasps her bra, tugging it off. He continues ministering short little pecks across her skin and longer wet ones that pull gorgeous moans out of her.

Sam is so warm and every little whimper leaving her lips as he kisses down her chest, taking one of her nipples in his mouth, encourage him on. He moves her off of his lap, onto the bed and rolls over, pushing her down into the mattress, kisses spreading down her tummy and stopping right below her belly button. Dean unclasps her shorts, sliding them down her hips and Sam kicks them off onto the floor. He slips a hand underneath the waistband of her panties and slowly, with practiced skill, starts rubbing circles into her clit. Sam gasps, arching into his touch and he smirks, leaning down to kiss her. He waits to pull her underwear off until they are practically soaked through and she’s breathlessly begging, pretty eyes dark with arousal.

“Dean, please just fuck me or eat me out I need something, you’re killing me here,” She breathes, groaning when he twists a finger inside of her.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just tosses the dampened panties to the ground and settles himself between her legs. He starts off with a few slow licks against her clit, causing Sam to arch up into him, a breathy gasp leaving her lips. His hands slide up to her hips, ghosting down her skin and he flicks his tongue in a quick rhythmic pattern on her clit. She whimpers and her hand slides into his hair, tugging gently. She squirms when she starts getting close, her whines and whispered begging grows louder and when Dean meets her eyes; she bites down hard on her lip and rocks up into his mouth. Samantha comes quickly from just his tongue, crying out his name in a low deep moan and tugging so tightly on his hair that for a moment Dean thinks her hand might come away from his head with a fistful of hair.

Dean rises to his knees, wiping his mouth off with his arm and kneels over her. “So how about I fuck you now, beautiful,” He asks, smiling down at her. She stares at him, still recovering from her first orgasm and nods eagerly, grabbing his arms and pulling him down for another kiss.

Dean leaves the bed, tugging off his boxers and leaving them on the floor. Digging around in his bag, he finds a condom in the side pocket and slips it on. He climbs back onto the bed; smoothing his hands down her sides and with one slow thrust, slides into her. Samantha lets out a choked moan, her fingernails digging into his biceps and she stares up at him, mouth parted beautifully.

It’s easy to close his eyes and pretend she’s Sam, despite the whole girl thing, so he does. He starts off his pace with slow even thrusts, hands tightly gripped onto her hips. When she starts breathing out his name, chanting it, encouraging him to fuck her hard, he lowers the pitch and pictures his Sam beneath him. His Sam, would be so beautiful like this too, so open for him and so eager, he knows he would be. His hazel eyes would be all wide, focused on Dean and only Dean as if there was no one else in the entire world but them. His hands would trace up and down Dean’s sides, lovingly touching every part of his torso while Dean fucks into him.

“Dean,” Sam moans, voice breaking at the end, eyes slamming shut as another orgasm rocks through her.

All Dean sees is his brother painting come across his chest, moaning Dean’s name and leaving red marks dug into his rib cage.

“Sammy,” Dean groans as he comes, hips thrusting one more time, then he falls onto the mattress next to Sam, breathing heavily. She doesn’t say anything about the nickname and he praises whatever God up there who hates him that she probably thinks it’s endearing.

After regaining his breath, he ties off the condom, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket and falls back onto the bed on his back, closing his eyes resting his hands at his sides. Samantha curls up against his side, soft hands tracing shapes across his chest.

“Thanks for that,” she whispers, hand pausing for a moment to press a kiss against his cheek.

Dean tenses, guilt swimming through his head and causing it to ache like an extended brain-freeze.

“Yeah, no problem,” He whispers back.

He waits for the inevitable question and contemplates just getting out of the hotel room right now and running away and throwing himself into a pit of fire.

“You sticking around long?” She asks, fingers resuming their tracing patterns. He wants to slap her hand away, curl into a ball and chastise himself for the next century for being an utter douchebag.

He fucked a girl who had his brother’s name and to make it even worse thought about his brother for a majority of the time while they were fucking. There is something massively wrong with him. Samantha doesn’t deserve this shit, no matter how great the sex was, she deserves someone who actually wanted to be with her in the first place, not someone who merely settled for second best.

Wow, he’s a piece of shit.

“Nah, I’ve gotta be in Maryland by tomorrow afternoon for another case,” Dean answers, sitting up and turning around so his feet hang off the edge of the bed, toes pressing into the dirty motel carpet. He gets up, roaming around the room until he finds his discarded boxers and jeans, hauling them up over his ass and buttoning up the fly with lightning speed. His pulse is thrumming underneath his skin and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He has to go, he really has to leave.

“Are you leaving?” Samantha asks in a quiet voice. She’s sitting up on the bed now, sheet hanging off her shoulder and disappointment written all over his face.

Dean didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse, he was wrong. His stomach twists and he swallows down the vomit that rises in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says, pausing and scrambling to think of some excuse that would be logical enough to use. He holds up his phone, waving it a little, “I just got a text from my Dad and he wants me to be there as soon as possible.”

It’s not believable, he knows it’s not and when Samantha’s face falls, eyes training down to stare at the crisp white sheets, his heart drops into his stomach.

“You don’t have to lie, you know. If you don’t wanna stick around just say so.”

Dean sighs. Damn it, why does he have to actually like people? This would be so much easier if he didn’t care. He stuffs his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and walks back over to the bed, resting one knee on the mattress. He takes her cheek in his hand and looks at her, openly and honestly.

“Honey, it’s not you, I promise.”

She nods, understanding and bites her lip, “You’re in love with someone else aren’t you?”

Dean gulps, eyes slamming shut. His hand falls from her cheek and he steps back. She’s right, he can’t reply, there’s nothing he can say to that.

“And you think they don’t love you back,” Samantha states plainly. Dean can only nod, not daring to look at her. He doesn’t deserve to look at her.

“I think you should leave,” Samantha says, quietly. Dean opens his eyes then, taking in the blatant shine in her green ones. She really did like him and he just hurt her, a fucking lot.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” He replies, grabbing his shirt off the ground and wandering around the room, stuffing the rest of his items into his duffel.

He’s throwing his toothpaste and toothbrush into the bag when he spots the journal, lying at the bottom, a reminder of how truly messed up he is. He angrily zips the bag shut, toes on his shoes and without another glance at Samantha heads towards the door.

“Dean,” she says softly. She’s dressed now and out of bed, standing a few feet away from him, wringing her hands together.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking back over his shoulder, one hand on the doorknob.

“I hope you find happiness one day,” She says, face blank and emotionless, but her eyes tell a different story. She means that, honestly and genuinely; she’s too fucking nice to him.

“You too.”

He leaves, closing the motel door gently behind him. The impala waits in the parking lot for him, and he tosses his bag onto the passenger seat, climbing in and bringing her to life. The smell of Sam’s cologne still lingers in the air from a few weeks ago and Dean fucking loses it, sobs rocking his body.

Sam was able to get over him, why can’t he get over Sam?

Angrily turning on the cassette player he jams one of his old CCR tapes into it and blasts the music, jolting the impala into drive and speeding out of the parking lot and out of Memphis. It starts raining five miles onto the highway, drops pelting the windshield so fast and so heavy that he can hardly see. He blinks through his tears and tries to see through the drops and the darkness to find the median lane.

The miles tick by at record speed. It seems like he’s always running away from something.


	6. Chapter 6

October 31, 2005

The moonlight hits the side of Sam’s cheek, casting shadows onto the comforter and dancing like tiny ghosts across the carpeted floor. He rolls over, away from the light and settles on his side. Jess stirs a little behind him from the movement of the bed, sighing in her sleep. The front door clicks open and releases a hissing squeal, then quietly closes; Sam’s eyes fly open. There’s someone in the apartment. He slips out of bed and stealthy pads out of the room into the hallway, hiding in the darkness and watches around every corner, waiting. A figure passes by one of the doorways, silhouetted by the light of the moon, a man by the looks of him. Sam rounds the corner, freezes and waits until he enters the living room and lunges forward, grabbing him on the side of the neck and swinging him around. The man latches onto Sam’s wrist and wretches his arm around. Sam tries to grab him again, but is shoved backward into another room; fuck this guy knows how to fight. Sam manages to get the upper hand for a second, all of his hunting instincts kicking back in, throwing punches and he kicks at the figure in the darkness. He knows he’s beat, this guy obviously knows what he’s doing and Sam’s too out of practice to keep up. Dad would be ashamed. He tries another couple punches, but the guy grabs his neck and wrist, flipping him over and pinning him to the ground.

Light streaming in from the nearby windows illuminates the stranger’s face, his green eyes and raucous smile.

“Whoa! Easy tiger.”

No. Fucking. Way.

“Dean?!”

Dean being Dean, fucking giggles, while still pinning Sam to the floor. His knees are digging into Sam’s sides and this is starting to get really fucking uncomfortable. Why the hell is he here anyway?

“Dude, you scared the crap out of me.”

“That’s because you’re out of practice.”

Smartass. Sam will show him. Moving quickly, he twists Dean’s arm and wraps his leg around Dean’s back, flipping him over onto the hardwood floor more gently than Dean did for him. He taps him on the arm, tapping out and smiles in satisfaction.

“Or not,” Dean chuckles. “Get off me.”

He rolls off of him and heaves Dean from the floor onto his feet. “Dean, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for a beer,” Dean says sarcastically, patting Sam’s shoulders, staring at him eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Sam is having trouble catching his breath, Dean’s only a few inches away from him, arrogant grin on his face just like always. It’s been two years since he’s seen his brother and the last time he did, Dean kissed him and ran away. Now he’s back for some goddamn reason, in the middle of the night. He’s not allowed to do this; Sam never said Dean could come back like this. So why the fuck does he think he can just waltz right back into Sam’s almost perfect life and fuck it all up, again?

“Sam?”

Sam whips around toward Jess’s voice, mind blanking for a few seconds. “Jess, hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.”

Whatever God is up in the sky looking down on him, must absolutely despise Sam to put the two people he loves most and the two people he’s had the most sex dreams about in the same room and allow them to interact for longer than thirty seconds.

But somehow he gets through it and ends up outside, standing next to the impala, duffel bag packed for a hunt for the first time in four years. Dad is missing, Dean says, and he needs Sam’s help to find him. It’s such a simple request that he could easily say no to, but he doesn’t want to. His entire future starts on Monday, interview for law school at Stanford, he has to be there, but what’s wrong with one last hurrah before he goes back to being normal? Plus, even if he wanted to say no, Sam doesn’t think he could. This is Dean and as mad as Sam still is at him for what he did two years ago and cutting off all contact, he’s still his brother and Sam will always have his back no matter what.

He’s over Dean, mostly, enough that he’s in love with Jessica and wants to propose to her this Christmas. She’s awesome, the best woman he’s ever known and he’s thrilled with the prospect of starting his life with her.

Sam throws his duffle in the back and takes his place in the passenger seat at Dean’s side. Dean twists the key into the ignition and the impala rumbles to life beneath them. Sam rests his hand on the side of the car, fingers dipping into the ashtray, touching the army man he crammed there so many years ago; his lips quirk into a little smile. Dean turns on the heat and the Legos rattle back and forth in the flow of air, creating one of the most beautiful melodies Sam has ever heard.

God, he missed this.

Dean looks over at him, his smile as bright as the sun in the darkness. In any other family, dropping everything and leaving in the middle of the night would be crazy. For the Winchesters’ it’s just another day and a taste of normality Sam had forgotten.

“You ready?” Dean asks, shoving a cassette tape into the deck.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Robert Plant screams through the speakers, singing about sex out of this world and finding a long lost love. Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat and sings at the top of his lungs and Sam is scared to death at how right all of this feels.

 

 

The hunt is relatively easy in comparison to many of the other hunts Sam went on as a kid. He almost dies, heart nearly ripped out by a Woman in White, but all in all it ends without a hitch and they’re back on the road late Sunday evening. Sam had figured that things would be awkward between them because of the kiss. At first it was a little weird, getting back into the way they work with each other. Yet somehow, even after all this time, like magnets unable to be separated, they constantly gravitate towards each other. It’s annoying; frankly, Sam would rather have the distance; that way he’ll be able to forget about how Dean’s presence makes him feel. He needs to forget about that, especially since he’s going to be home in two hours, and back with Jessica.

Dean will leave again, he always does, entering Sam’s life for a few brief moments and then vanishing like a tornado. He rips through Sam’s picket fences, and burns his two-story neat tan house, with wife and kids inside to the ground like it’s child’s play. Sam hates him for that, and himself. Though, he probably hates himself more for letting Dean get to him like this. Dean’s always been his weakness, always will be too.

It’s midnight Monday morning when Dean drops him off at his apartment. Sam has to force himself to get out of the car and walk away. He wants to stay, he does, he wants to help Dean find Dad, because sure he and John may not be on good terms right now or ever if he’s being honest, but he’s still his Dad and if he’s in trouble, he wants to help. But he has a different life now, and he can’t just keep dropping everything for Dad, Dean and their crusade. He spent his entire childhood doing that, he’s not going to waste his chance at having a life by letting them pull him back into this.

“Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” He asks Dean, leaning over into the rolled-down window of the impala. He’s lying, the words sear his tongue as they leave his mouth, but it might give Dean a little comfort to think that maybe he hasn’t completely given up hunting yet.

“Yeah, alright.”

It’s stated half-heartedly, with a tiny little shrug and a blank expression. Sam should have known that Dean would still be able to pick-out when he was lying. He gives his brother one last long glance, ingraining Dean’s face into his memory. As always, Sam never knows if he’s going to see him again. He would force Dean to get out and give him a hug if he thought that would do any good. He taps the car twice, giving Dean a little wave as he heads back towards the building.

“Sam.”

He turns around, back to Dean.

“You know, we made a hell of a team back there.”

His stupid heart jumps a little at Dean’s words. He’s right, they really did. Sam thought he might have been horribly out of practice, what with not hunting for four years, but thanks to muscle memory he’s still got it. It’s obvious that despite all the shit between them they are purposefully not talking about, Dean still wants Sam at his side, and if that isn’t a miracle, then Sam doesn’t know what miracles are.

He’s too stunned to say much, so he settles on one syllable.

“Yeah.”

Dean leaves, unceremoniously and quietly, no music, only the rumbling of the impala as he speeds down the street. Sam stands at the curb, watching the impala until Dean turns a corner and Sam can’t see him anymore, only then does he go inside.

He can hear the shower running when he goes inside, Jess always liked taking showers at night, it was kind of her thing and in one way they were opposites. Sam would always take showers in the morning, he felt weird if he took them at night. This was probably due to his upbringing and Dad keeping them on a strict schedule.

There are a plate of cookies sitting on the counter with a note from Jess on top, _“Missed you! Love you!”_ Sam snatches one and plops it into his mouth, grinning; they’re still warm. He walks into the bedroom, sighing happily as he collapses onto the bed, closing his eyes and waiting for Jess to get out of the shower. A warm droplet lands on his forehead, and then another; there must be a leak in the ceiling or something. He opens his eyes and starts screaming. Jess is on the ceiling, her stomach slashed, blood dripping from the wound onto the bed and him. Fire suddenly erupts from behind her, sizzling her flesh and there is a silent scream etched onto her face. Off in the distance he hears his name being yelled, he should move, get out of the room and away from the fire, but he can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t do anything.

Dean grabs him, forcefully pulling him to his feet and out of the building. Sam scrambles to go back in, to save her, he has to fucking save her! He reaches out and tries to grab every doorway he can, but Dean is stronger and gets him out.

They stand on the sidewalk, a few feet away from the impala, Dean close at his side and watch as Sam’s life goes up in flames.

 

 

Sam and Dean stay in Stanford for a week after Jess’ death. He goes to the funeral, alone, even though Dean offered to go with him, Sam told him no. For Sam, this was something he had to do by himself, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say, knowing Dean was there. Sam waits in the shadows until after the rest of Jess’ family leaves. He watches them place her charred body into the ground, throwing six feet of dirt back down on top of her. The bouquet of flowers he bought, wilt as his hand crushes their stems to stop himself from sobbing.

He kneels at her freshly dug grave, dropping the flowers onto the soft dirt and covers his face with his hands. The tears fall, soaking his hands and leaving darkened imprints on the dirt around his knees. Sam wasn’t sure it was possible for a heart to break more than once or twice in a lifetime, but at twenty-two his heart is breaking for the third time and he still hasn’t figured out how to handle the pain.

Sam presses his hand into the dirt, trying to be close to her as possible. He misses her smile, the wide one she always gave him in the morning right before she kissed him. He misses her arms around him when they’d cuddle at night before going to bed, he misses how she always had his back no matter what, she was always there for him and he was there for her. He’s going to miss her kisses, the smell of her hair, her lavender perfume, and the way she always knew what was wrong when he was upset about something. He’s just going to miss her, a fucking lot. This is all his fault, if he’d just stayed around then maybe she would still be here, if only he hadn’t been so selfish.

“I’m so sorry Jess,” He says, voice breaking. “I love you so much and I wish I had told you the truth about me. You never knew and you deserved to know who held my heart before you did. I wanted to marry you, I was gonna ask, and now I never will be able to,” Sam sniffles, wiping his eyes with the rough edge of his sleeve. “You deserved so much better and you deserved to live. We would’ve had an awesome life together and I’m sorry, so fucking sorry I took away your chance at happiness. I love you so much and I promise, I’m going to find this thing that killed you, and I won’t stop until I do.”

He leaves the flowers bright and colorful amidst his darkened world and heads back out to the road where Dean is waiting for him. They go back to the hotel in silence; this is their last night in Palo Alto. Sam withdrew from all his classes yesterday, packed up some of his things and gave the rest away to the local shelter. He won’t need school supplies anymore, but he keeps the pens for the future, he will need those. Entering the hotel feels like a prison, the air all musky and heavy that he feels like he can’t breathe or escape all of his thoughts and feelings. Barely setting his bag on the floor, he crawls into one of the beds and buries his face in his pillow.

Sam doesn’t cry, not at first, he just left all his tears at Jess’s grave. He clings to the pillow, riding through the waves of pain that wash over his body. He never wanted to go through this again. After a few minutes of Dean shuffling around the room, he hears his brother come up next to the bed side, setting a glass down on the nightstand and clear his throat.

“Here, I brought you some aspirin and water, thought you could use it.”

Sam opens his eyes, blinking up at Dean and nodding slowly. “Thanks. Do you have anything strong than water?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Dean doesn’t laugh. “Yeah, I have a bottle of Jack Daniels in the car. I’ll go get it.”

Sam curls back into the pillow, twisting the blankets around himself. Dean hands the bottle to him, waiting while Sam takes a few chugs and then falls back onto the bed with a whimper, turning away from Dean. Sam closes his eyes, scrunching them together to stop the rush of tears wanting to come out. His shoulders shake, giving him away.

“Sam?”

Sam shakes his head, sniffling in and out, fingers clenching the pillowcase. There’s a movement behind him, a sigh, and then the bed dips. Dean press himself up behind Sam, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. He’s as close as he can possibly get to Sam without this getting awkward, it should be awkward in the first place, but it’s not. This is what Sam needs, is too afraid and underserving to ask for and yet somehow Dean just knew.

“I got you, little brother,” Dean whispers, mouth close to Sam’s ear and that does it, all of Sam’s flood gates break.

Dean holds him while Sam sobs, arms tightening around Sam’s waist to try and lessen the jerking of his body and just lets him cry. Sam falls asleep sometime, crying until he passes out and when he wakes up the next morning, Dean’s eyes are almost as red as his.

He doesn’t want to think too much about what that means.

They leave around eight and head east towards Colorado. Sam slumps in the passenger seat, and watches Stanford fade behind him. He’s sad, but not as upset as he thought he would be. His entire normal life is disappearing in front of his eyes and he should be angry, should be scrambling to get back and out of this car. But Sam’s more melancholy and he doesn’t have the energy to feel anything else. Over the past week his emotions have been on a rollercoaster, going from expecting to be on the fast track to the law program at Stanford and getting engaged in a few months to the woman he loves, to driving in the car with his brother headed towards a hunt to find their dad and away from his now dead girlfriend. Whiplash, he has whiplash and the effects of this are going to haunt him for a long time.

It’s obvious that Dean is hesitantly happy, there’s a little jump in his step when he walks into the gas station to pay for gas and to get snacks. He teases Sam, gently not anything too intense, but every so often he just starts staring at Sam with this concerned look on his face and won’t look away until Sam nods at him or gives him some sort of understanding that he’s okay. Sam’s not okay though, not at all. He feels numb most of the time; Jess’ death takes away any positive emotion towards being back with Dean he has.

Plus, he’d feel guilty about being happy to be around his brother, when all he wanted four years ago was to be as far away from Dean as he possibly could. Jess had been his escape, she was his shining light in this darkness of fucked-up and not right, and now she’s gone. Sam has no idea what’s going to happen now and he’s terrified.

 

 

Blackwater Ridge, Lake Manitowoc, Nazareth, and Toledo; four hunts in two months, four monsters killed and still no sign of Dad.

When Sam gets back into the hunting life, he dives right back in, no hesitation. Someone has to pay for Jessica’s death and if it’s not him, it’s going to be the thing that killed her. He still misses her, he thinks about her at least once a day, but with every passing day, it gets easier. The pain lessens and he starts to remember the parts of hunting he actually liked.

Tonight is the start of their week long break before the next hunt. They both need one, they’ve been going non-stop since leaving Stanford and while finding Dad is at the top of their list, Sam’s especially, Sam needs a rest and Dean, thought he may not say it, needs rest too. Home for the next week is a charming little motel on the plains of eastern Kansas. It happens to be cleaner and nicer than the regular ones they stay at, the beds are actually made and the stains on the bedsheets are minimal. The place seems almost homey in comparison to some of the dumps they’ve lived in over their lives.

The first thing Dean does upon entering the room is examine everything, set salt traps, and call dibs on the shower, which leaves Sam to unpack all their things and chill until he can get a turn in the shower. He doesn’t have to research for once and it’s strange that they are actually kind of taking a vacation, together, without Dad and without anywhere to be other than here. When Dean mentioned taking a week off, Sam was tempted to suggest going to the east coast, in the Carolinas or something and go to the beach, but Kansas was home and now that they are here, it feels right and Sam doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

Sam digs around in his bag and finds one of the few books he kept from Stanford. He sprawls out on his stomach on the bed and flips through his copy of Wuthering Heights that he’s had since he was fourteen, re-reading the marked and bent pages. He looks up when the shower flicks off and then back down again, he doesn’t want Dean to think he’s waiting to see him come out of the shower, that is creepy. He faux reads, heartbeat accelerating in anticipation, despite his brain constantly yelling at his body to fucking stop being excited about the idea of seeing his brother partially naked.

The door slides open and Sam sees Dean pad by the bed, bare feet still wet.

“Your turn,” Dean mutters, rifling through his duffle bag.

“Kay,” Sam says, rolling off his bed, leaving his book on the bedspread. He chances a glance at Dean on his way into the bathroom and regrets it the moment he looks at Dean’s freckle covered back. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, which okay should be normal he’s always done that since he was a teenager, this isn’t anything new. But this, them as adults, hunting together and sharing a room together after Dean learned about Sam’s big gay incestuous secret, kissed him and then fucking ran away – Yeah, it’s safe to say Sam thinks his heart is beating so fast it will explode out of his chest.

“Be out in a few!” He squeaks, rushing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

He turns on the shower and leans back against the door, resting his head on it, steadying his breathing. He thought he put most of this behind him, he tried so damn hard to get past this and then Dean kissed him and Sam was too shocked to kiss back, which Dean obviously took in the wrong way; hell Sam has no idea why Dean kissed him in the first place. Point is, he’s fucked to hell again and shouldn’t even be feeling this way considering Jessica died two months ago.

Sam angrily strips; throwing his clothes on the floor like a five year old having a temper tantrum and steps into the shower. He stands right under the spray, soaking his hair and letting the warm water massage his muscles. Running his fingers through his damp hair, he realizes he forgot his shampoo in his bag; he’ll have to use Dean’s. Great. He squirts a small amount of the coconut smelling liquid into his hands and suds up his hair. Why Dean loves coconut shit, Sam will never know but he always gets the same cheap two dollar brand from the store that smells like heaven and somehow still manages to keep his hair looking hot as fuck. It’s ridiculous. Sam rinses his hair and grabs one of the wash cloths off the towel rack, soaking it with water and squirting more shampoo (he’s too lazy to get out of the shower and grab the bar of soap off the counter) onto the cloth. He washes his body ignoring how his brain constantly decides to remind him that, hey Dean was in here just a few minutes ago, Dean used this shampoo, Dean probably masturbated in here.

Well, fuck.

Now Sam’s half-hard and everything is just going to get infinitely worse when he goes back out there, he might as well just deal with his sexual frustration now.

He wraps his hand around his dick and strokes up and down once, a small gasp of pleasure escaping his lips. Sam whispers a curse and bites the inside of his cheek; he has to stay quiet. He closes his eyes, leaning back against the tile wall and starts up an even rhythm. At first he tries to stay away from picturing Dean doing anything remotely sexual to him and attempts to think of other guys and girls, yet all they change into dirty blonde hair with green eyes so he fucking quits and lets himself go.

Having Dean in the shower with him would be nice. Sam would just push him up against the wall, leave hickeys on his neck and then spread him wide open and fuck him until he comes against the light blue tiling. God, that was too much, his brain dam has just been released and it has no filter. Sam slides his hand faster, covering his mouth with his free hand to fight back a groan.

That last fantasy was hot, obviously, but what would be even better would be to just stand under the water like this and fucking make out, all tongue and wandering hands until they’re both so hard they can’t stand it. Sam would just start rutting against Dean like the horny teenager he clearly still is, until he comes and Dean follows close behind him, muffled whimpers of each other’s names said into the misty air.

Sam comes then, the over-stimulation too much and he has to bite down on his pointer finger to keep from yelling. After he comes down from the high and his breathing slows to normal, he rinses himself off and steps out of the shower with shaky legs. He grabs one of the towels off the rack and dries off, sliding it around his hips. Pausing in front of the door, he takes a deep breath and opens it, stepping out into the cooler main room. He avoids looking at Dean as much as possible, but their bags are right next to each other and happen to be on Dean’s side of the room so he doesn’t really have much choice. Dean is lying on the bed, watching television. Sam walks in front of him and changes, fast, feeling Dean’s eyes on him as he does even though his back is to his brother.

Payback is a bitch.

Dean doesn’t move, but when Sam looks over at him again, before heading over to his bed, if Sam isn’t mistaken there is a slight redness on his cheeks. Ha, success. He slips beneath the covers and wraps his shoulders in the warm blankets, adjusting until he’s comfortable. The television flicks off a few seconds later, and the lights vanish. Sam waits.

Dean has been sleeping with him every night for the past two months, always platonic, just like they did as kids. It started off as a means of comfort right after Jess died and has continued through silent agreement ever since. Tonight shouldn’t be different, but there’s a thickness in the air like fog and Sam can’t breathe. Dean walks over to the bed, pauses, lifts up the sheets and then crawls underneath. He doesn’t touch Sam at first, hesitating, that’s new. But when he does it’s so carefully and just the tips of his fingers on Sam’s waist that a shiver rushes down his spine. Somehow this feels more intimate than any other time they’ve cuddled. Sam hates himself for how much he loves this. Dean settles in behind him, arms slotting into their spot around him and he rests his head right next to Sam’s on the pillow, his warm breath spreading across the back of Sam’s neck.

There’s silence and then, in a whisper, Dean asks, “Did you use my shampoo?”

“I forgot mine out here and there was nothing else in there,” Sam explains.

“You could’ve used the little bottles they always give us.”

Sam freezes, tensing in Dean’s arms. “I didn’t want to, there’s not enough in those bottles anyway.” It’s a lame excuse and he knows it, but he can’t just say that despite forgetting his shampoo, he also kinda wanted to smell like Dean, cause that would be really awkward, especially right now.

Dean chuckles, and Sam relaxes, the tension slowly easing itself out of him. “S’okay, Sammy, don’t worry about it. You smell good.”

Sam blushes, his cheeks heating up and spreading to the tips of his ears. He’s thankful it’s dark, otherwise Dean would see. He bites his lip and resists the urge to squirm; instead he finds Dean’s hands where they rest on his tummy and covers them with his own. Silence overtakes them and Sam thinks Dean is going to say good night or something.

“How are you doing?” Dean asks.

“What do you mean?”

Dean sighs, as if Sam is a petulant child who asks too many questions. “Jess.”

Sam cringes at the mention of her name and releases a heavy breath. “Oh, uhm,” he searches for the words. It’s hard to describe how he’s feeling, obviously he’s still fucked up over her, but he’s doing better so much better than he could be and Sam knows without a shadow of a doubt that’s because of Dean. “Better, I guess. Some days are still hard and I wake up and think all of this is a dream or something, and then I get more oriented with the world and realize that she’s actually dead and I’m not at Stanford anymore.”

Dean shifts behind him, arms loosening a little around Sam. “Do you wanna go back?” He asks. “You don’ t - you don’t have to stick around with me if you don’t want to.”

Sam gulps his throat constricting. That’s the last thing he wants anymore, to go back to Stanford. He couldn’t go back now, after he knows that there is something out there that killed Jess, he has to find it and he has to kill it, they have to kill it. More than that though, being with Dean for longer than a few days two years ago made him remember everything he’d missed about him, all the annoying things and all the good things. He could go back, try to salvage a life out of the one he lost, but why would he do that. If there has always been one constant in his life, it was Dean.

At Stanford, he was happy, he was, but there was always something missing and he knows what that missing piece was: Dean.

“No, I want to be here… with you,” Sam says, quietly. His heart is beating so fast, he wonders if Dean can feel his pulse from where his wrist is pressed against Dean’s hands. In a moment of confidence, he gently pulls on Dean’s hands from where they rest on Sam’s sides and pulls them back around him, resting his fingers on top of Dean’s, lying his fingers just so that if Dean wanted to, he could tangle their fingers together. It’s a silent message; he’s trying to tell Dean without actually saying it that if Dean wants everything Sam wanted so long ago, he’s willing to try, because he still wants it too.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just sighs against Sam’s neck and scoots in as close as he can.

“Night Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes this time at the nickname that Dean ceaselessly insists on using despite Sam’s protests. It’s cute though and slightly endearing, so Sam guesses it’s okay.

“Night Dean.”

Sam closes his eyes and settles back against his brother’s chest. He’s almost asleep when it happens, he feels Dean’s fingers slot between his, tangling together until he can’t tell which hand is his. Sam’s lips tip up into a smile and he snuggles back into Dean, nervous butterflies flitting around in his belly for the first time in a long time.

“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean says, words slurring.

His smile breaks into a grin and he adjusts his positioning so his head is in a comfortable spot on the pillow and lets sleep overtake him.

 

 

Sam wakes up the next morning with Dean’s hands splayed possessively across his chest and wet lips pressed against the back of his neck. He’s way too warm like this, especially with the light of the sunshine hitting his face, but he doesn’t want to move. Dean is curled around him; every part of the front of him is fitted against Sam, pressing against him in all the perfect ways. If Sam were thirteen again he’d be embarrassed by the obnoxious hard-on he gets from Dean being this close to him and this clingy. He’s not thirteen anymore, but when he finally untangles himself from Dean’s grasp to sneak away to the bathroom, there is a little pink on his cheeks.

Dean barely budges when Sam moves him, too deep in sleep to be woken up. He rolls over on the bed, grunting and slapping a hand against the mattress, searching for Sam. Pausing by the bathroom door, Sam looks back and smiles softly at the sight of Dean all curled up in the blankets, his mouth hanging open and fingers twitching lazily on the mattress. He’s adorable.

Sam quickly takes care of himself, brushes his fingers through his hair and slips into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He finds his shoes by the door, toes them on and grabs the pen and notepad on the desk, scribbling down a short note which he leaves on the pillow.

 

_Went to get breakfast, be back in twenty._

_Sam_

 

Twenty-two minutes later he reemerges into the room with a bacon, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich for Dean and a ham, cheese and spinach omelet for himself. There was a diner down the street that did takeout and had cheap breakfast items. They’d definitely have to go back there. Dean is awake now, sitting on the bed in his pajamas, hair sticking up in every direction and watching television. Sam takes out Dean’s sandwich and tosses it to him from across the room. Dean catches it flawlessly of course, and grins when he smells the bacon.

“You’re the fucking best, Sam,” Dean says, tearing open the wrapping and taking a huge, disgusting bite out of the sandwich.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Sam replies, sitting down at the table next to the far bed and opening up his takeout container, beginning to eat his omelet.

“So what do you wanna do today?” Dean asks, after finishing his sandwich in less than five minutes, as he tosses the wrapper into the garbage can.

“I dunno, nothing?” Sam offers, with a shrug. He really doesn’t feel like doing or going anywhere. They are supposed to be on vacation after all, and since this is only for a week, he’s going to make the most of every precious second he gets. Which means, today should be their “do nothing” day.

Dean chuckles, leaning further back against the headboard. “Sounds good to me. Indiana Jones Marathon then?”

It’s like he can read Sam’s mind.

“Perfect.”

Dean puts the movie in while Sam finishes eating and then makes a space for him on the bed, scooting over just a few inches.

They have very few movies that they keep with them, but the three Indiana Jones movies are one of them. These films represent their childhood, long nights where Dad left them alone, jetting off to God knows where to interview witnesses and leaving the boys with candy and popcorn and these movies. It’s been years since Sam has seen them, he purposefully avoided watching them while at Stanford, and if he hadn’t he would have probably been a crying mess the moment the intro started. Indiana Jones is something that belongs to him and Dean, he couldn’t share these with anyone else; it would feel wrong.

There are a lot of things he can’t share with anyone else but Dean.

Sam settles back against the headboard, fiddling with his hands until he figures out where to put them, he ends up just resting them on his thigh, anywhere else would be awkward and look uncomfortable. Dean is pressed up next to him, not obviously, just barely, enough that every inch of their thighs are touching and it’s driving Sam crazy. Obviously he can’t just put his hand on the mattress next to him, considering Dean’s thigh is there and Sam is not about to just fucking put his hand on Dean’s thigh, not yet at least. First of all, why is Dean sitting so close in the first place? Sure, they’ve always been close and always needed to be close to each other, but this is more, and obviously more. It’s like Dean is trying to seduce him without actually trying in the way he normally does. Well, the way he normally does with women and men, overly flirtatious and wild smiles, and all that crap he does to get laid.

Sam sneaks a look over at his brother. The sun casts rays on his face, highlighting the freckles dashed across his nose and cheekbones and the little one on the corner of Dean’s mouth that Sam has wanted to kiss since he was thirteen years old. Dean looks happy, grinning and laughing at the movie like the Indy junkie he is and he’s comfortable, definitely doing a hell of a lot better than he was the last time Sam saw him. He’s been quiet too, concerned and worried about Sam, but sometimes Sam sees Dean looking at him with this little secret smile on his face.

Sam’s eyes grow wide, his heart stopping within his chest just as Indy is having his big fight scene at the beginning of the movie. Dean would be flirting with him if this was about sex, but this isn’t about the sex. Sure, sex is a part of it, obviously, but it’s so much more than that Sam can’t put it into words. Apparently Dean can’t either. If the reason Dean kissed him two years ago was because he was in love with Sam and if he still is, then all of these constant yet hesitant touches and looks make sense. Love isn’t Dean’s specialty, he’s never been good at it, he’s always just fucked people and left the next day. Sam selfishly knows that Dean loves him more than anyone in the universe, that’s a fact that will never change. He’s just still unsure if Dean wants him, it would make sense if he doesn’t considering the circumstances. Hell, he’s probably scared, just as much as Sam.

This thing between them is constantly growing and building until one day someone is going to break under the pressure and throw everything onto the line for better or worse. It’s not like their relationship is something easy, something that they can forget about if they fuck everything up by deciding they want to be more than what they’ve always been. Sam has worried about this for the past ten years, and he never thought there would be a chance for this to actually work; it was inconceivable, even after Dean kissed him. Now, though he feels guilty for moving back to his brother so soon, he is helplessly in love with Dean, again. Except this time, Dean might be in love with him too.

Sam jerks his head away from staring at Dean and smiles down at his lap. He feels giddy like that time when he was seven and Dean found a way to sneak him into the local zoo and they spent the entire day seeing all the animals. Dean has always been his light, his beacon signaling home whenever there’s a storm; it just took him a long time to figure out how to get to shore.

He’s not focusing on the movie anymore, hands fidgeting in his lap, contemplating his options. He could be a classic dick and try the whole arm over the shoulder thing, or he could just overlap his hand onto Dean’s thigh, or he could be extra daring and reach over, slide his fingers in-between Dean’s and hold his hand like a lovesick teenage girl.

Sam bites his lip; wanting to do the latter but unsure if he’s brave enough to deal with the consequences if Dean slaps his hand away or something. Though, Dean was the one who initiated holding hands last night while they were cuddling, so he can’t really be too mad about this.

Wow, for brothers they really are weird.

Sam sucks in a deep breath and tries to find his courage. He pictures himself at thirteen years old, sitting on his bed crying because of how ashamed he was to be in love with his big brother and how fucking wrong it was. It doesn’t feel as wrong anymore, but he’s just as scared and afraid of is losing everything.

With his exhale, Sam moves his hand, finding Dean’s where it’s rested on his thigh and sliding his fingers underneath Dean’s palm until his fingers slip into the slots between Dean’s. He folds his fingers in and squeezes lightly, with purpose. The television screen blurs in front of his vision and he stares blankly at the flashing colors waiting for a slap, or a punch or something, but nothing comes. After a few seconds, Dean’s fingers move, clasping against the top of his palm and he squeezes too, not hard but enough that it’s noticeable and moves their joined hands to the dip in-between their thighs. Sam feels like he’s going to start hyperventilating, that any second now he’s going to wake up and this is going to be an awful dream or he is dead and this is heaven, either way this cannot be real.

“What do you wanna get for dinner?” Dean’s voice pinches him awake to the fact that this real and Dean is holding his hand and it seems like Sam is the only one freaking out about this.

Sam jolts his head towards Dean, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Uh, pizza?”

“Awesome, but if you order one with fucking pineapple on it, I’m not eating it. Fruit doesn’t go on a pizza,” Dean says firmly.

“Deal, no pineapple. You want the meat lover’s special then?” Sam asks, as calmly as he can without letting his voice shake.

Dean’s lips twitch at “meat lover’s” because he’s apparently five years old, not twenty-six. “Yeah, perfect.”

It’s one in the afternoon by the time the first Indiana movie is done and they agree that pizza should happen after the second one is over. The entire time Dean holds his hand, only letting go to get up and get a beer or use the bathroom. Sam feels his love for his brother growing every single time Dean comes back and takes his hand again. He doesn’t just grab his hand and squeeze it.. Dean adjusts until he’s comfortable, putting whatever he went to go get on the nightstand and then, slowly reaches over, fingertips brushing the top of Sam’s hand, sending shivers shooting down his nerves. His fingers hover there, before sliding underneath Sam’s hand, and tangling their fingers together.

Dean touches him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world; Sam wants to wrap him up and finally make Dean his.

The rest of the evening flows well, the pizza is good, no pineapples, and all meat and by the time the credits roll on the third movie, Dean’s head is resting on Sam’s shoulder. It’s only eight at night, but Sam wants to sleep.

Actually, what he really wants to do is grab Dean’s hand, pull him down onto the bed and lazily make out with him for the next three hours until they both pass out on each other. That’s not going to happen though, not tonight.

“Dean?” Sam whispers, as the television screen goes blue and the disc stops spinning.

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go to sleep,” Sam says, nudging at Dean’s ribs with his elbow. Dean grunts lifting his head slowly off of Sam’s shoulder like it weighs one hundred pounds and slips under the covers, making happy noises as he gets comfortable. Sam follows him immediately, relaxing back into Dean’s arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, which considering how normal cuddling like this is, it does feel natural.

Similar to last night, Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s waist and presses his entire body up against him, breath ghosting over Sam’s neck. The only difference tonight is that instead of allowing their legs to line up with one another, Dean tangles his legs with Sam’s bumping his knee against the back of Sam’s calve and sliding one of his thighs, next to Sam’s.

“G’night,” Dean murmurs, the word slurred by his hazy sleep-riddled brain.

As is slowly becoming his new habit, Sam snuggles up closer to him, joins their hands and closes his eyes.

“Night, Dean.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning it’s Sam who wakes up alone to a note on the pillow reading that Dean went out for a bit, not to get breakfast apparently, but just something. Maybe they’ll go out to eat, that would be nice, and Sam wants to try more of the local diner’s breakfast food. He showers in the time it takes for Dean to return and when he leaves the bathroom, Dean is back sifting through his duffel bag for presumably a change of clothes. Sam wanders over to his bag, slipping on a t-shirt and then one of his plaid shirts and a pair of jeans. He freezes, fingers on the fly of his pants when Dean lifts up a few of his shirts out of the bag and there it is: his journal.

“You kept it,” Sam states, the words leaving his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself.

Dean pauses, noticing what Sam is talking about. He pushes the shirts to the side, his hand hovering over the top of Sam’s journal. “Well, yeah, of course. What? Did you think I was gonna throw it away or something? This is important to you, Sam, of course I kept it.”

“You didn’t have to keep it,” Sam mutters, “Especially if it made you uncomfortable or something, you know I wouldn’t be mad, it’s okay…” He trails off, darting his eyes around on the ground, picking out the large coffee stain near the corner of the bed.

“Sam,” Dean starts, taking a step towards him, but Sam jerks away, grabbing his shoes and half-jogging to the door.

“I’ll just…meet you in the car, so we can go get breakfast.”

The car ride over to the diner is less awkward than Sam anticipated; only filled with so many unspoken words Sam thinks he’s going to drown in them. They are seated at a booth and Dean, kindly flirts with the waitress, he always does to get good service, but it still makes Sam feel even worse than he already does. Coffee comes and the silence is killing him. He rests his chin on his hand and pours extra cream into his cup and watches the swirls until they fade into a lighter brown.

After they order, Dean nudges his foot under the table with his own and Sam looks up at him.

“You looked like a kicked puppy, what did I say wrong?” Dean asks, his eyes like windows to his soul and Sam can see his own fears reflected there.

“Nothing, I’m sorry, I’m just…” Sam stops abruptly, the words souring in his mouth so he washes it down with a drink of coffee.

“What? You’re just what?”

“Scared,” He answers, swirling his spoon around in his mug until he creates a whirlpool.

“Why?” Dean demands instantly. Sam almost groans at his brother’s curiosity and need to know what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not here, not right now.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” Sam asks, finally looking up at Dean. His brother is leaning forward on the table, hands clasped in front of him, mouth set in a thin line. He looks like he’s about to cry or freak out, or have some kind of intense emotional blowup.

“No, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do, I just want you to be okay Sam, that’s all.”

Sam releases a heavy sigh, clasping his hands together underneath the table and squeezing them until they turn white. Their waitress decides now is a great time to bring their food and they eat in silence, both devouring their meals with epic speed. Food is important but dissolving this fog in the air between them is more so.

Dean pays for the food and Sam waits in the car, fiddling with his hands, his hair and the seams on his jeans. Yeah, he knew this wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t expect to have an actual meltdown. Dean gets in and starts driving, away from the hotel, down some back road. He turns on a local soft rock station, quietly in the background as comfort. It always helped calm Sam down as a kid and put him right to sleep. Obviously, right now sleep isn’t the objective, but calming is and Sam has never wanted to lean over and kiss Dean more than he does right now.

The music helps a little, but the further away from town Dean drives and the more fields they pass, Sam’s anxiety only grows worse. He’s spent ten years stuffing all this shit down and it’s about to come out all at once. He’s not ready for this. It’s fitting that all his secrets will tumble out into the open while in the impala. She is home and Dean is home, so it’s only right that if he’s going to be honest, he does it in the most comfortable place possible.

“Pull over,” Sam orders suddenly. They are on a dirt road in the middle of the cornfield, two houses nearby, and Dean swings the impala onto the edge of the gravel, putting her in park, shutting off the engine and turns, watching Sam.

“I don’t know where to start,” Sam says, quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He hasn’t looked at Dean yet, he doesn’t have the strength.

“Start where we left off: what are you scared of?” Dean asks. The answer is obvious, so Sam says it like it is.

“Losing you.”

“You won’t,” Dean answers immediately. “Ever. I don’t care if you go batshit crazy and start the apocalypse, you will never lose me.”

Sam nods, body jerking as he tries to hold back a sob. Since he’s getting this all out, he might as well ask the question that’s been plaguing him for the past two years.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to,” Dean answers.

Sam looks over, finally, biting his lip, knowing that Dean’s next answer will decide everything. “Do you still want to?”

“I’d like to do more than that if you’ll let me, but yeah I’ve wanted to kiss you again for the past two years.”

Because he likes to ask a thousand questions, Sam asks, “Why?”

It’s Dean’s turn to turn away, dropping his eyes to his lap. “I tried, I really did, you know? I fucked people, I met people and tried so fucking hard, but all I wanted was you. You’re it for me Sam, there’s never gonna be anyone else.”

“Really?” Sam breathes out in disbelief.

This can’t be real, any second now he’s going to wake up from this dream; it’s too good to be true.

“Yeah, you’re everything to me, Sam. I don’t know how to say it other than that.”

Dean raises his eyes, meeting Sam’s finally, all raw and open.

“So you actually want me?”

Dean laughs, as if it is the most ridiculous questions Sam has ever asked. “The amount of times I’ve thought about you naked in the past two days might be unhealthy, so yes I want you.”

“Oh, so that’s why you kept staring,” Sam says, a smile breaking on his face.

“Kinda, I also just really like looking at you.”

They both fall silent and Sam feels a lot better with most everything out in the open. The air is so thick between them right now it could probably be sliced with a chainsaw. He wants to kiss Dean, he wants to go back to the hotel room and make out until they can’t help but fall apart in front of each other. He doesn’t know how to ask, but thankfully, Dean knows him almost better than Sam knows himself. And Dean asks for him, silently, with his hands, like he’s been doing all week.

He rotates his body, turning in the seat to face Sam as much as he can. His fingers ghost over Sam’s cheek, cupping his face with one hand. Sam licks his lips impatiently, waiting. Dean hesitates, just looking at him, fingers rubbing circles into the soft skin.

“Sammy, is this okay?” Dean asks, softly.

Sam can’t speak his throat is clenching up and he’s going to break out in a sweat any minute if Dean doesn’t hurry up. He nods, giving Dean a little encouraging smile and grabs a hold of the lapels on Dean’s jacket.

The first press of Dean’s lips against his is gentle, so gentle Sam can barely tell Dean is kissing him. His head starts spinning and he feels like he’s floating on euphoria. Dean’s lips are soft, and when he pulls away after only a few seconds Sam chases his lips, because uhm no, that wasn’t long enough, what is Dean thinking?

Sam whines a little when Dean pulls back to stare at him again, and breaks out into a grin.

“Patience little brother.”

Dean leans back in, lips pressing more firmly this time, still innocent enough though that Sam is yearning for more. His fingers slide down Sam’s neck, resting on his collarbones and his thumb brushes almost reverently across them. Sam sighs into Dean’s mouth, hands dropping from Dean’s jacket to slide to his waist. Sam feels like he’s dying, any second now his heart is going to combust into a thousand tiny pieces and he’ll die, right here in Dean’s arms where he belongs. He’s never had a home, not a stable one at least, he doesn’t consider Stanford a home, it was still temporary, but right here, in the impala with Dean’s lips pressed so wonderfully against his, he thinks this is what home might feel like.

Dean moves his lips from Sam’s down to his jaw, pressing kisses there and a few down his neck. Sam clings to him for dear life, worried that he’s going to drown from all the emotion surging through him. A whimper leaves Sam’s lips and Dean pulls off Sam’s neck with a wet pop, fingers still gently gliding along his collarbones.

“Wanna go back to the hotel?” Dean asks, voice scratchy and Sam has definitely seen his brother kiss girls before but he’s never sounded so wrecked after kissing them. Damn, that makes Sam feel good.

“Hell yeah,” Sam answers. He wants to keep kissing Dean, but going back to the hotel would probably be better than having an impromptu make out session in the middle of a corn field. Dean turns the car on, rotating his body back forward. He revs the engine and smirks at Sam who dissolves into a fit of laughter. Doing a quick u-turn, Dean speeds down the dirt road back towards the hotel, gravel flying and bumping against the impala’s sides. Sam’s so giddy he thinks he might be slightly high just from Dean’s kisses, he can’t imagine how he will feel after they make love for the first time.

Yeah, making love, that’s what he’s calling it; this is so much more than sex, to call it that would be a horrendous understatement.

Sam leans across the middle console and presses a kiss against Dean’s cheek, resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder and sliding his hand down until he reaches Dean’s hand and covers it with his own.

Dean looks over at him, and they share a quiet smile filled with so much unspoken need and desire that Sam’s breath is knocked out of his chest. The speedometer is already pushing seventy on this backroad, but Dean needs to go faster.

 

 

They are barely inside the hotel room before Dean has him against the wall, hands roaming over Sam’s body, touching him in every single place he can, lingering just long enough to explore and then he moves on to a new spot. He seems to have a thing for Sam’s neck; he keeps kissing it and nibbling at it. Maybe that’s because he likes the little gasps of “Dean” that continuously leave Sam’s lips whenever he does. Dean’s hands slide under Sam’s shirt, hands ghosting over his stomach and he grins against Sam’s lips when Sam gasps into his mouth. He tugs the shirt off and tosses it away, landing somewhere in the room. Sam starts chasing Dean’s lips, when Dean pauses, hands pressed against Sam’s chest, breathing heavily.

“Sam, wait, wait a second are you sure you’re ready for this? Do you need more time, cause I totally understand if you do.”

Sam blinks at him, barely an inch away from Dean’s. Right, Jess. Oh. He feels a pool of guilt starting to well in his stomach, but pushes it down and away. Two months isn’t proper grieving time, not according to healthy standards, but he’s been in love with his brother for nine years and has wanted exactly this scenario for the same amount of time. He’s done waiting, he needs Dean and he needs him now. Not in a week, not in another few months, right now.

His body answers for him, moving forward and pushing Dean against the wall, mouth roughly hitting Dean’s. It’s messy, and Sam is so desperate to have Dean’s hands on his skin he doesn’t know what to do with himself except help his brother understand. Sam licks his mouth open, clumsily tugging at Dean’s plaid shirt, until he manages to pull it off. He pauses, meeting his brother’s eyes, hands lingering on Dean’s biceps, basking in the blatant mix of lust and love reflected there. Dean is panting, his beautiful mouth parted and Sam wants to keep kissing him until those lips are pink, swollen and wet from his kisses.

He leans in, slower this time and captures Dean’s lips in his so softly Dean lets out a startled little noise into his mouth. Sam pushes Dean’s hands up against the wall beside his head, trailing his hands down Dean’s arms and his sides, back down to the hem of his shirt which he grabs and pulls over Dean’s head in one easy tug.

“Sam,” Dean breathes, fingers reaching for Sam, gliding down the sharp lines of his chest, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He steps forward away from the wall, hands coming to rest on Sam’s hips, dancing around until he reaches his belt loop. His fingers rest on the buckle for a moment, and his eyes take in the stuttering movement of Sam’s stomach from his breathing. Sam sucks in a breath, watching as Dean undoes his belt and tugs his pants and boxers off his body leaving him completely naked in front of him. He feels a little shy, standing in front of Dean entire body bared and obviously aroused. This is everything he’s ever wanted, but he’s scared because this is so much bigger than the both of them and the gravity of it is starting to hit him.

Sam watches Dean’s reaction carefully. Dean smiles a soft little smile, eyes slowly moving down and up Sam’s entire body in admiration. He releases a breath, gaze returning to Sam’s.

“God, Sammy, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

A choked sob leaves Sam’s lips and he’s on Dean, crushing their lips together and pressing his hands into every visible inch of Dean’s skin. They’re so close now, his cock is rubbing against the denim of Dean’s jeans providing just enough friction that a moan leaves his lips and he rocks against Dean, desperate for more, to feel him. Dean grabs onto Sam’s hips, walking them backwards until the back of Sam’s knees hit the bed. Sam flicks open Dean’s fly, pulling his pants and boxers down as fast as humanly possible. Dean almost trips onto his face in his haste trying to step out of them and rams into Sam, pushing him back onto the bed. Sam bursts into laughter from where he’s now sprawled out on the bed, staring up at his brother. Dean grins, eyes twinkling and he climbs onto the bed, on top of Sam.

Dean’s mouth instantly presses hot against Sam’s and he drapes himself over him. Sam almost dies, Dean is fully naked now and they are flush together and the feeling of Dean’s cock rubbing against his own is so fucking good he is struggling to breathe. Dean’s lips leave his mouth and Sam misses them instantly, but not for long. He lets out a gasp when Dean sucks a mark onto the lower part of his neck right above his collarbone. Dean chuckles against his skin, slowly moving down Sam’s chest to twirl his tongue around Sam’s nipple and sucking on it until Sam whines in impatience.

“Dean, I need you, please,” Sam breathes, fingers gripping Dean’s arms so tight he leaves white imprints in the shape of his fingertips. He can slowly feel himself losing control and Dean hasn’t even fucked him yet or even touched his cock. He just wants Dean to make him fall apart.

“I got you little brother, I’m gonna take care of you,” Dean murmurs, mouth hovering right over Sam’s heart. He flicks his eyes to Sam’s, rising up a little to press a kiss against his forehead, before falling back down and continuing to kiss down Sam’s body.

Sam whimpers at Dean’s words, arching into the wet kisses Dean is pressing along his ribcage. His hands are brushing reverently over Sam’s chest, sliding down his sides and ghosting across his hipbones. Sam can’t help the continuously noises of pleasure leaving his lips, this is too much, every sensation sends jolts down his spine and spreading like warm electricity throughout his body. His cock is straining to be touched, but he doesn’t want Dean to stop kissing him like this. Sam thinks that he could probably come just from Dean kissing his entire body if he wanted to.

When Dean reaches his navel, hands pressed down onto Sam’s hips, Sam thinks this is it; Dean is finally, finally going to take him into his mouth. But he doesn’t, continuing his kisses down across Sam’s hips all the way until he reaches his thighs. He kisses the few freckles there, the scars and the large gash Sam got on his knee when he was seven and tripped over a curb, hitting his knee on a rock. Dean takes care of that one especially, tracing his tongue along the line and sucking at the skin until it tingles and feels warm. Sam can do nothing but lay there, squirming and letting Dean pull him apart, little by little with his mouth.

Dean lingers on Sam’s calves, kissing the taut muscles, fingertips running over where his lips have just been. He starts kissing the top of Sam’s foot, the veins and Sam starts laughing, mostly from how absurd it is that Dean is kissing his feet but also because it tickles. Dean pauses at Sam’s laughter, lightly running his fingers up and down one leg and then presses one last kiss to the top of Sam’s big toe, just like he used to when Sam was a kid. Sam lets out an actual sob at the final kiss, and his hands dig into Dean’s scalp, entire body shaking from how much love and devotion Dean is showing him.

Dean looks up then, noticing Sam’s trembling form and gently slides his hands up Sam’s thigh.

“Sammy, you okay?” He asks, softly.

Sam bites his lip and nods enthusiastically, “Just a little overwhelmed, don’t stop.”

Dean smiles moving back up to press a chaste kiss on Sam’s mouth, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look. I just wanna taste all of you, Sam.”

To prove his point he presses a trail of a dozen kisses along Sam’s jawline, agonizingly slowly. Dean is going to kill him if he doesn’t hurry up, his cock is aching and he needs to be touched or to be fucked something, anything. Sam whimpers, rocking his hips up against Dean’s to get some kind of friction.

“Dean,” Sam whines, biting down so hard on his lip he thinks he might draw blood, “I need you inside me, please.”

Dean moans crashing his lips into Sam’s like a wave. “Hold on,” He whispers, moving off of Sam and going over to where both of their duffels are lying on the floor to get lube, “I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry.”

Sam waits impatiently, body cold and missing Dean’s warmth. When Dean returns he settles himself between Sam’s legs, and squirts a bit of lube onto his fingers. With a gentle push Dean slides one finger inside of him, pausing and waiting for Sam to relax a little more and let him in. Sam breathes out a moan, fingers digging into the flesh around Dean’s hips.

“Are you good so far?” Dean asks, comforting hand sliding up Sam’s left hip.

Sam nods, unsure about his ability to talk. “Keep going,” he manages, breath stuttering in his throat as Dean slowly starts to move his finger around inside Sam. A whimper from slight pain mixed with pleasure leaves his mouth and he bites his lip, gazing, transfixed on how beautiful Dean is. Sam slowly starts to writhe on the bed as Dean slowly opens him up. A low burn of pain soaks his body but the pleasure overpowers the pain.

“Dean,” Sam gasps as Dean sticks another finger inside him, pushing further in to brush against his prostate. Sam’s entire body seizes up and he groans. Dean’s free hand slides up from Sam’s hip to caress his side.

“Still okay?” Dean asks.

"Hurts a bit, but it feels good,” Sam assures him. A guttural moan escapes his throat when Dean scissors his fingers inside of him and Sam rocks down against him, wanting more. “Dean, please,” Sam whines.  

“I know Sammy, I know. You’re almost ready for me, I wanna get you nice and open.”

Dean’s voice is practically a purr and a rush of arousal washes over Sam’s body at his brother’s words. He tries to fuck himself onto Dean’s fingers, desperate for release, but Dean presses on his hips, stopping him. He wraps his hand around Sam’s cock and gives it a few easy strokes to ease the pressure. A cry leaves Sam’s lips and he squeezes at Dean’s hips with his fingers.

“Hold on, baby boy, I’m gonna take care of you,” Dean says, leaning forward to press a kiss against Sam’s forehead.

Sam chokes out something akin to a sob and he grabs a fistful of the sheets. He’s so hard that if Dean doesn’t hurry up he’s going to fucking come before Dean gets to be inside of him. He doesn’t want that, he’s gotta wait. Dean twists his fingers more, gently opening Sam up enough to stick one more in. The third finger is easier, Sam is more relaxed now and Dean’s fingers slide in and out of him with more ease.

“Dean, c’mon,” Sam begs, pleading eyes trained on his brother’s face.

All at once Dean’s fingers leave him and Sam shudders out a breath, feeling achingly open and a needy rush jolts through him. Before he can say anything or even make a sound, Dean slowly enters him, not all the way, just the head of his cock and pushes a rasping moan from Sam’s lips. He pulls out just as slowly and Sam whines at the loss, wanting Dean all the way inside him. The next thrust is better, Dean sinks into him a little further and pauses before pulling out again, eyes trained on Sam’s face.

“Okay?” He rasps. Sam can tell waiting is just as hard on Dean as it is on him.

“Move,” Sam groans, “I need more, please.”

Dean adjusts his hands on Sam’s hips, pulling out and finally, fucking finally slides all the way into him. Sam cries out from the blast of pleasure that rocks through him, when Dean hits his prostate, shaky hands grasping at Dean’s hips.After a few more slow thrusts, Dean starts fucking into him in an easy even pattern, and gentle so gentle. Dean’s hovering over him, eyes dark with arousal and shining with love, he’s panting, lips parted and the amulet Sam gave him so many years ago thumps against his chest with every thrust. Tears start to well in Sam’s eyes, not from pain but overwhelming pleasure. Dean feels so good and so right inside him that every ounce of self-hate he ever had for wanting him fades away in the easy rocking of Dean’s hips.

Sam’s getting close and Dean is too, both of their breaths stuttering and Sam can’t stop saying Dean’s name, chanting like it’s a prayer that’s going to save him from hell and clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline. Dean leans forward, increasing his pace, sliding his arms up Sam’s and pushing them up above his head. He slides his hands down his biceps and forearms all the way down to his palm and sliding his fingers into between Sam’s and squeezing tightly. Leaning in he brings his lips against Sam’s in a warm, wet kiss. Sam comes, gasping Dean’s name into his mouth, entire body spasming. Dean follows soon after, groaning his name low in his throat and his hips rock with the aftershocks until Sam is squirming from over sensitization and Dean pulls out, collapsing onto the bed next to him.

Sam pants for a few minutes, blinking at the ceiling and trying to control his breathing. Dean slings an arm around Sam’s torso, burying his face in Sam’s neck and holds him while Sam regains control of himself. He presses a few kisses against Sam’s jaw and one right beneath his ear. Sam’s tears are revealed five minutes later when a few tear drops land on Dean’s forehead and he looks up at Sam’s face, startled.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He asks, face crunched up in worry.

Sam shakes his head, reaching up and wiping his cheeks, “No, I’m just…. overwhelmed and happy, really fucking happy.”

Dean grins, scooting up to kiss Sam’s cheek. He grabs the edge of the blanket pulling it up over them and tightening his hold around Sam’s waist.

“It’s okay Sammy, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Sam curls into Dean’s side, burying his face in Dean’s neck and breathing him in until everything is Dean and only Dean. Sam feels sleepy, like he could sleep for ten hours or so even though it’s one in the afternoon. He wants to hide himself in the covers and Dean’s arms and never leave. Dean probably wouldn’t mind if the way his arm tightens around Sam’s waist whenever Sam moves away a little. Dean is humming quietly right next to Sam’s ear and shifts his position until Sam is completely trapped safely and happily in his arms. Sam, being the utter sap he is, presses his hand on top of Dean’s like always, sliding their fingers together and closes his eyes.

Home, he’s finally home.

 

 

Sam wakes up first around five the next morning amazed at his ability to sleep for over twelve hours straight. The light is just filtering in through the tan curtains partially closed in front of the window. Ove the night Dean’s hold on him lessened, enough that Sam can turn over now, facing his brother, and watch the sun shine down on his face. The golden glow brings out the freckles dashed across Dean’s nose and the few sprinkled along his bottom lip. He’s so beautiful when he sleeps, long eyelashes lying on his cheeks and mouth slightly parted as he breathes in and out. Sam could watch him for hours, and he does, for at least one until Dean finally stirs to life, eyes fluttering open and taking in the sight before him.

“Well aren’t you a pretty picture to wake up to,” Dean says his voice hoarse from sleep. A happy smile appears on his face and he rubs his eyes, blinking and staring at Sam.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Sam replies. He reaches out and caresses the side of Dean’s cheek with his hand, kissing him softly.

Dean is grinning when he pulls away and waggles his eyebrows at Sam suggestively. “Ready for round two?”

Sam laughs, his hand sliding from Dean’s cheek to his shoulder and down his side. “Yeah, but this time, I’m calling the shots.”

Dean blinks at him, gets what Sam is saying and then nods eagerly, “I’m all yours.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but they both know that Dean is Sam’s and Sam is Dean’s, it’s not a joke it’s the truth. This spurs Sam into action and he rolls over on top of Dean, kissing him in every visible place he can. Dean melts underneath him, eager under Sam’s mouth and he makes quick work of turning Dean into a whimpering mess. Mimicking how Dean kissed him last night, Sam starts along Dean’s neck and follows the lines of his body down, tracing them with his tongue, but he makes sure his eyes never leave Dean’s. When he reaches Dean’s chest, the amulet resting there right over his heart, Sam stares at the shiny gold. This amulet has always been a symbol of what he meant to Dean, at least that’s what Sam took it as. He gave it to his brother so long ago as a gesture of love and it’s remained that even now. Sam leans down and presses his lips against the metal, relishing in the whimper that comes from Dean’s lips.

Sam continues kissing him, worshiping Dean’s body just like Dean did to his. He kisses every freckle, every scar he spots and makes sure to spend extra time on the ones that he patched up. Dean’s moans are gorgeous, long, and deep and they vibrate throughout his entire body. Sam is getting hard, fast especially with how wrecked Dean is sounding and the way he keeps bending towards Sam’s mouth it won’t be long before the tension gets too much. When Sam reaches the sensitive part of his hips, right on the curve of them, Dean reaches out and grabs a handful of his hair, tugging on it and letting out a particularly pornographic moan.

“You should see yourself,” Sam murmurs, lips ghosting over the top of Dean’s thigh, “so fucking gorgeous just like I knew you’d be.”

“Sammy,” Dean breathes, yanking on Sam’s hair so hard that gush of painful pleasure rolls down Sam’s spine.

Sam continues kissing down Dean’s body until he determines he kissed every spot even the tip of Dean’s nose which makes his brother practically glare at him, but the moan he makes afterwards says he didn’t mind that much.

Sam slides his body along Dean’s and in their desperation they start rutting against each other like horny teenagers. They’re going to come just like this, just from friction. A surge of need rushes through him and Sam picks up his pace, wrapping his hand around their cocks and starts stroking them together, watching as his brother falls apart beneath him. His eyes are wide open, constantly on Sam’s and when Sam moans his name, so loud that it echoes throughout the room, Dean comes, spilling into Sam’s hand and across his chest, gasping curse words intermixed with Sam’s name. Sam comes a few seconds later, gasping and roughly rocking against Dean. Sam is on fire, his senses alive and all he can do is lean forward, draping himself across every inch of Dean’s sweaty body and kiss him until his brother moans into his mouth. Sam pulls away, breathless and his hair sticking up in a thousand directions thanks to Dean’s hands. He brushes his fingers across Dean’s cheek, taking in how beautifully debauched his brother looks and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“I love you so goddamn much.”

Dean sucks in a breath, eyes wide as he stares up at Sam. His fingers rake along Sam’s sides, just touching him to touch and he smiles, softly. “Love you too, Sammy.”

 

 

They are both pretty sticky, come drying on their bodies along with the come from last night and Dean especially is whining about needing a shower. They shower together of course, making out underneath the hot spray, the true representation of every single one of Sam’s teenage fantasies; they change and head out for breakfast. Both are starving from their early morning activities and Dean needs his dose of bacon for the day, so the little diner they have gone to every morning fits the bill perfectly. The waitress doesn’t even pass Dean’s radar today, she tries to flirt with him, but he ignores her completely sliding into the booth across from Sam and grinning from ear to ear, eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

“Can I get you anything?” She asks, tapping her pen in annoyance on her notepad.

Sam breaks eye contact with Dean and smiles sweetly at her. “Two coffees, a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich for my brother and two eggs over easy with a side of hash browns for me, please.”

She nods and slinks away into the kitchen.

They’re in public, in Kansas, so even though Sam really wants to reach across the table and hold Dean’s hand, he’s not going to. He’ll save that for later.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to play footsie with him under the table like a lovesick teenager. He keeps smiling, eyes shining at Sam even as he pins Sam’s foot underneath his and lightly kicks him in the shin. He’s so fucking cute it makes Sam’s heart expand with more love. He didn’t think it was possible for him to love Dean more, he was wrong. Sam has a feeling that in the coming months as this new stage of their relationship continues his love for Dean is going to keep growing. He’s not sure his heart, and body can take it, but he’s excited to find out.

Their food comes and they both devour their entrees within a few minutes, clearly starving

“So what do you wanna do?” Dean asks, around a mouthful of bacon.

“Can we go for a drive?” Sam asks, sliding his empty plate over to the edge of the counter and taking a gulp of coffee.

“Where to?”

Sam shrugs, nudging at Dean’s foot underneath the table. “I don’t know, you decide. Somewhere pretty maybe so we can watch the sunset later and make out.” Sam pauses, chuckling at himself and adds, “If that’s okay with you of course.”

“That’s more than okay,” Dean answers, tangling his foot around Sam’s ankle and leaning forward far enough so he can bump his knee into Sam’s.

They pay with their stolen credit card of the week and walk out of the diner shoulders touching and fingertips brushing every couple steps. Dean practically jumps into the car, starting her up before Sam even has the passenger side door open and blasting Led Zeppelin, rolling the windows all the way down.

“You’re gonna fuck up my hair,” Sam mutters, in faux annoyance, stepping into the car. He’s smiling though so Dean knows he’s actually kidding.

“That’s the idea, princess, wanna give you that whole wind-blown look, it’s hot.”

“Shut up, you’re such a sap oh my god.”

“You’re the one who cried after we had sex last night so, you shut up.”

Sam rolls his eyes and slugs Dean playfully in the shoulder.

Dean punches him back and grabs his shoulder, dragging him in for a lazy kiss.

“Let’s drive,” Dean says, smirking and patting Sam’s thigh when he pulls away.

Robert Plant sings them along the near empty highway. It’s a Sunday so everyone and their mother in Kansas is in church, leaving the roadways empty and perfect for speeding and blasting classic rock, while singing at the top of one’s lungs, which Dean does very well. Sam watches his brother, hands tapping to the beat on top of the steering wheel, occasionally catching Sam’s eye and smiling at him, or winking just to drive Sam crazy, because he knows it does.

Sam has been smiling for so long and so much that his cheeks are starting to hurt. It’s the first time this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why he deserves to be so happy, but he is.

This feels just like his childhood, except Dean is driving, flirting with him, Dad is gone and Sam no longer has to hide being hopelessly in love with his brother. Right now, everything is perfect. He knows it won’t always be like this, they’ll have their problems just like they always do. He’ll get annoyed at Dean when he takes too long to shower or when he constantly buys junk food at the store. And Dean will fight with him when Sam buys fucking kale to put into salads and forgets to buy Dean’s coconut shampoo so Dean has to deal with the shitty hotel brands for the next few days until they can get to a supermarket. They fight, they make up, and then they give up everything for each other; it’s a cycle that never ends and Sam wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fields rush past the car in a yellow blur and Dean is singing very off-key to Ramble On. Sam looks over at him. The sunlight hits his brother’s face just perfectly, highlighting his laughter lines, the crinkly ones that he gets when he grins at Sam and Sam’s favorite freckle, the one on the corner of his mouth. He leans over, and presses a kiss against the side of Dean’s mouth, right on top of the freckle and lingers there, taking the moment in. He leans back into his seat, amused at Dean’s surprised but happy smile in response to Sam’s kiss and reaches over, grabbing one of Dean’s hands off the steering wheel.

He tangles his fingers with Dean’s slotting them together and clasping their hands, until they fit perfectly like a pair of matching puzzle pieces. The sun is warm on his face; Dean’s hand is warm in his. The open road stretches out for miles in front of them and Sam can’t wait to see where Dean takes him.


End file.
